Partners
by Nathan Perry
Summary: In her rooftop struggles with Batman, Catwoman tips the odds in her favor when her new young sidekick debuts: Dick Grayson!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Some people call me the space cowboy. Some people call me the gangster of love. Some people say I own these characters and not DC Comics. Those people are wrong, and frankly I wish they'd shut up and stop calling me those things.

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**Partners**

Black cape billowing in the night, Batman strode across the rooftop towards her. While Catwoman normally looked forward to these nocturnal tete-a-tetes with him, his face lacked that downward curl of his lips that was the only difference between the intense, angry glower she found so sexy, and his usual disapproving grimace. She knew why, and it galled her. "You've been avoiding me," he said in his gravelly voice.

It had been months since she'd gotten away from him with her loot intact. She'd had to resort to keeping her ears open, watching the news for sign of JLA-type disasters or waiting for one of Gotham's assorted freaks to hold the city hostage just to be able to steal enough to get by. Annoyed as she was, she ignored the implication with feline dignity. "You've been so busy lately," she said with the air of a bored socialite. "It's enough to make a girl suspicious. Who knows what alleys you've been tom-batting around in lately?" That brought out the glower. If crime weren't enough to anger him, humor at his expense always did. She didn't usually resort to puns, though. Blame that on the kid.

"I think you should put those jewels back, Catwoman." No sense of humor at all.

She caught a flicker of movement on the rooftop across the way, two stories above their own position. She arched her back in a lazy stretch. Smiling, she said, "And I think you should take ballroom lessons, Batman, because this dance is getting old."

"Who needs to learn new steps when the old ones work just fine?"

Oh my. Was that a joke? It was. She absolutely hated having to leave that alone, but her new partner was already in motion. Calling him off now would bruise his adolescent ego, and besides, she planned to leave with her prize this time. Forcing herself to keep her eyes on the pupil-less white lenses that covered his eyes, she said, "Not a good attitude, Batman. It's that sort of thing that will make a woman start looking for a new dance partner. You never know when some young lion will want to cut in-"

And at that point, the young man's airborne foot slammed into the back of Batman's head, sending him hurtling over the edge of the roof towards the alley below. The teenaged boy in the domino mask and the black leather bodysuit with the stripe of orange running across both arms and down his chest in the shape of a 'V' blinked in surprise. "Is he okay?" he asked. As much as he'd been hardened by life in Gotham's east end, he was still charmingly innocent about some things.

Unfortunately, in this case, innocence cost them precious seconds. The sound of compressed gas escaping followed by a line unreeling could be heard. She gave the boy a shove in the opposite direction and said, "Better than we're going to be if we don't make tracks." They both took off, running across the roof and leaping over the alley. Well, she leaped. He did a mid-air flip with a twist. Good kid, but an inveterate show-off.

It didn't take long for the Bat to take up the chase. It was one of the more intense chases she'd ever undertaken. She made good time across the rooftops, and the kid stayed right with her, but they weren't able to lose him. She headed for the ground, laying a trap for him using her young partner as bait which allowed her to shred his grapple-line with her razor-sharp claws, but the two of them hadn't been able to take him down, and their whips were gone as well.

It was getting to the point where it looked like only one of them was going to get away, and while she was deciding which one that was going to be, the kid took that decision away by leaping over the both of them, jabbing his two fingers into Batman's eyes, breaking the lenses in his cowl, allowing both of them to take off. It'd take him some time before he could clear his vision and get the pieces of lens out of his eyes without taking off his cowl, but as they ran down the dimly-lit streets, their options were thinning. "This way!" he said, turning into a dark alley.

"Wait!" she called, stopping at the mouth of the alley. "That's a dead end!"

"That's what he'll think too, come on!" he urged, waving her in.

She hissed and followed him, but said, "If you're wrong, I won't leave enough of you for the Bat to arrest!"

As they headed further into the narrow alley, he grinned at her, blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "Trust me," he said. She supposed trust was necessary in this sort of arrangement, but it wasn't easy for her to come by. They alley dead-ended in a concrete wall, as they'd both known it did. There was a fire escape landing on one of the buildings, but it was fifteen feet above the ground, with no ladder. Not to code, but then a lot wasn't in this part of Gotham.

They could reach it with a whip, but without it, she had no hope of jumping that high. He couldn't even reach it standing on her shoulders, although given how much he'd grown in the few months since she'd taken him in, at this point it might be the other way around. He grabbed her shoulders and indicated where he wanted her to stand, with her back to the wall opposite the fire escape. "Give me a boost," he said, taking two steps back.

An expression of feline curiosity crossed her face. She steepled her fingers and cupped her hands together, holding them in front of her, palms facing upward. He ran forward and jumped, landing with one foot in her hands, his knee bent. She lifted with as much force as she could, and he extended his leg, leaping upwards. While still ascending, he put both of his feet on the brick wall and pushed off, his body arching upwards across the alley in a twisting back flip. His hands managed to grab hold of the bottom rung of the ladder."Me-ow!" Catwoman said appreciatively. She knew the kid was good, but she wouldn't have thought that jump possible.

He grinned at her. His ankles were just low enough for her to leap up and grab hold, which she did. He said, "Batman'll be here any second, Selina. You'll have to climb up me. Watch the claws, willya?"

"You know kid, you're a little young to be inviting strange women to climb on you," she said as she pulled herself up, "and if you do, watching for the claws is your responsibility." She grinned in his face as he blushed bright red, although whether he did so because of her teasing comment, because of the effort of holding both of them up, or (more likely) because her climbing meant that her arms and legs were wrapped around him and her body was pressed against his was having the obvious effect.

She spared him the embarrassment and pretended not to notice his...duress, and climbed up onto the landing, giving him a hand up. They climbed the escape and leapt on to the rooftop of the building that made up the end of the alley. He was about to run, when she stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "Wait," she said, "this is the best part." She pointed to the mouth of the alley, where Batman stood, glaring up at them.

He'd been cautious about entering the alley. He knew as well as she had it was a dead end, and he'd suspected a trap. He strode into the alley and said, "Grand larceny isn't enough? You need to add contributing to the delinquency of a minor?" Batman had blue eyes. He'd cleared the lenses, and she could see his eyes. The first time she ever had. Even in the darkness she could see that they were as blue as-

"Holy tight-ass..." Dick muttered under his breath.

"Isn't he though?" she said softly, smirking. Loud enough for him to hear, she said, "Just bringing him into the family business, Batman." Unable to resist, she added, "You should find a good woman, settle down, have some little Bat-lings of your own. Or is it that _good _women aren't your style?" she teased. With that shot fired, she turned and walked away from the edge of the roof.

"Be seeing you, Bats!" Dick called, waving jovially before following after Selina. As they crossed the roof, he said, "He can't possibly think you're old enough to be my mother."

"Probably not, but it's best to keep him guessing. So did you enjoy your first prowl?"

"Damn right!" the teen said eagerly, grinning at her. "How'd I do?"

Selina laughed indulgently. There was something to be said for having a cub along on hunting trips. She tousled his curly black hair and said, "Well let's say, you got the drop on the Bat, poked him in the eye, and we got away scot-free, with the catnip in hand," she said, patting the bag with the stolen gems around her waist. "I'd say you did good, Tiger."

"I'm still not sure about that name," he griped.

"You picked it," she noted.

"From the choices you gave me. And you gave me some real stinkers. Come on, admit it, wouldn't you find it embarrassing to be working with 'Catboy'?"

She laughed, "Yeah, that wasn't my finest work. Look, I'm not big into the naming thing, alright? I'm a woman, I like the cat theme. The name suggested itself. I don't drive a Cat-illac, have a group of henchthugs called the Cat-men, or throw Catarangs. Besides, your idea wasn't any better. Using a childhood nickname your mother gave you as a street-moniker is bad enough, but a bird? With a cat?" Catwoman shook her head at him and said, "That'd never work."

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_Later that night_

"I can't believe it, Alfred!" Bruce said, fuming as he returned, stepping out of what they referred to only as 'the car'. "He was barely a teenager. If that!" He stalked towards the computer, pulling off his cowl and seating himself in the single chair, saying, "I've always thought she wasn't really a bad sort, just misguided, but bringing a _boy _with her on a heist. It's unconscionable!"

Alfred nodded impassively. Without anyone but himself to confide in regarding his nighttime exploits, Batman had placed Catwoman in a category separate from the rest of his enemies. She didn't murder innocents or attempt to hold the city hostage, all she did was steal. If he could somehow stop her from doing that...suffice it to say that Alfred suspected his young charge's interest in the feline wasn't purely altruistic. Alfred decided it might be wise to attempt to...well, _redeem _might be too strong a word, but at least repair the damage the young man had done to Bruce's image of Catwoman.

"It used to be very difficult to keep you out of the cookie jar, you know," Alfred said. Bruce grunted, not really listening. "And between your parents and myself, we certainly didn't teach _such _behavior to you."

Bruce blinked in surprise, then turned to look at Alfred, the expression on his face suggesting he thought his old friend might be losing it. "Did you need some vacation time?" he asked.

"The _point_, Master Bruce," Alfred said curtly, "is that children learn to _steal _without being encouraged by their elders." Bruce frowned, fingering his chin absently.

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_The next morning_

Dick tossed and turned in his bed, the movements becoming a violent thrashing as he re-lived the last night he'd spent with his parents and Haly's Circus. Zucco threatening Pop Haly, the last routine they'd done together...he knew what was coming. He'd have given all the loot in his share to keep from having to see it again, but you can't close your eyes on a dream. The sound of the line snapping, the screams from the audience, the sight of the bodies of John and Mary Grayson crashing to the sandy ground below. Broken.

He woke to the sound of his own screams. He clutched his knees to his chest, burying his head between them. A light appeared in the hallway outside. His door opened. Most sixteen year-old boys kept their doors locked, but it's not like that would have kept Selina out. She asked, "Your parents?" He bobbed his head yes, and she walked towards him, sitting down on the bed next to him and putting her arms around his shoulders, offering words of quiet comfort.

He was grateful for that comfort, but he hated that he needed it. Hated that she saw him like this, sobbing in the darkness...

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_Stealing's one thing, but it's only part of the job. There's more_

_in Chapter 2_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all Supermen were created equal. Except for Superboy-Prime. He's a dick. I'm not writing him in here, although it's not like I own any of these characters anyway.

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**Partners**

Chapter 2

When she woke, Selina smelled frying bacon. She smirked in amusement. As much as he wanted to pretend his nightmares didn't exist, (She never pressed him on it. Just because you take in a stray, doesn't mean you're the answer to all his problems,) his peculiar sense of honor wouldn't let him _not_ try to pay her back in some way. At least she'd been able to steer him into less risky ways then picking pockets in Midtown and offering her the contents. Not quite dead-fish-on-the-doorstep bad, but Catwoman's apprentice couldn't be out there committing _mundane_ robbery like that. It was gauche.

When she'd pulled him off of the streets, he'd been hesitant about cooking. That was putting it mildly. He was almost afraid to try to use a toaster, let alone actually _cook _something. She shook her head at the memory. "This takes minimal intelligence and manual dexterity, two traits you have _in spades. _You picked up the principles of picking locks in an hour," she had said, "how can you possibly imagine that an omelet is beyond you?" He tried to grin his way out of it, but she put her paw down. She was _not_ going to be a maternal figure, and she was not going to cook for him, barring those occasions when she felt like it, and he couldn't keep in shape forever eating pop-tarts and cold cereal, so if he wanted to stay with Catwoman, he was going to learn to cook.

It sounded silly, in retrospect, but Selina had suspected that as fast as he learned, he'd have to be forced to learn when he didn't want to. She really was doing him a favor. With his looks, he was apt to find some girl who wouldn't see anything wrong with doing the cooking, which meant it was either settle down young or eat 'bachelor food' until he did. Not that he was Cordon Bleu material or anything, but he could make breakfast, as he was doing now.

She supposed she'd better get up before he tried to bring it to her in bed. There was just something..._wrong_ about him doing that. It seemed to her a vaguely dog-like act of servility, and for all that she knew that wasn't what was motivating him, she still didn't like it. After showering and dressing in a t-shirt and shorts, she made her way out to the kitchen where he'd fixed her bacon, eggs, english muffins and coffee. "Morning Tiger," she said, hoping he'd eventually either take to the nickname or get fed up and pick something else.

"Technically speaking, it's afternoon," he said, fixing up his own plate as usual, right down to ketchup on the scrambled eggs, which she could never understand.

"Because we know just how much respect I have for all those little rules," she said with a smile, as she placed a forkful of egg in her mouth.

"Speaking of broken rules," he asked, "how much you figure those diamonds will fence for?"

"Hard to say," she answered. "I could get the usual rates from my Miami connection, but given how slim pickings have been in Gotham, I might consider staying local this time, of course that's got its own problems."

"Like what?" he asked. For all that she'd essentially had to blackmail him into learning to cook, it sure didn't take any effort to teach him new things about the job.

"Well, there's basically two players when it comes to fencing in Gotham, unless you want the small-timers who work with guys ripping off Radio Shacks that won't give us half of what we get from an established fence. First, there's the mafia. That's a problem because they've just had a power struggle, and the family that came out on top, I'm not on good terms with."

"And even if I went in, they don't know me, so they wouldn't give me anything close to their worth, assuming they didn't just try to bump me off and take the stuff."

"Right. The other is Cobblepot."

"The Penguin?"

"The same. He's been trying to get out of the themed crime business and try for some more stable businesses."

"You mean he's tired of getting kicked around by the Bat and arrested."

"Yes, but it's not polite to make fun of our less-fortunate colleagues."

"Hey, you were the one calling him 'Cobbleputz' after he messed up your job with those canary diamonds."

"And I've moved on, Dickey-boy. You should too. Anyway, he's got two points in his favor, he's new, which means he's got to be hungry for business, and he's easily intimidated. The downside is that I have to be in his presence," she said, making a face. Flirtation, she could handle, but around her, it was difficult to keep Penguin focused. "That'll be where you come in..."

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_That night..._

The short squat man stood up from the desk and greeted them effusively, "Come in, come in! Always such a pleasure to see my favorite felonious feline femme," and he promptly took her hand, kissing the back of it, (or, more accurately, the leather glove covering the back of her hand), at which point he noticed the young man beside her who was glaring at him hatefully, his fists clenched. "Uh..." he said, not sure what to make of this, "It's not like you to travel in packs, is it?"

"Easy now," she said to Dick, lightly placing a hand on his arm, "play nice. Penguin, this is Tiger. Call him an...apprentice."

Dick still glared at Penguin, but made a show of offering his hand. "Pleased to meet you." Penguin somewhat hesitantly accepted the hand, and then let out a squawk as Dick squeezed the hand nearly hard enough to crack bone.

Penguin forced a smile and said, "Charming young fellow," glancing nervously at him, "Perhaps he'd like to chat with Rocco over there while we talk business?" pointing to the large henchman who was standing guard over them.

"Of course," Catwoman purred. She glanced briefly at Dick and said, "If you would." Dick promptly walked over towards the large man, ignoring him entirely and glaring at Penguin from across the room.

Penguin straightened his tie and said, "I wonder if you've given any thought to my proposal for a partnership?"

"Which proposal was that?" she said, "The date you asked me out on or when you said 'Let's split the diamonds and kill the Bat' right before you tripped the alarm in Empress Jewelers vault?"

"Well, either, to be frank."

"I really would rather get to the business at hand, Oswald."

"But if you take a look at what could be done..." he continued, undaunted. Catwoman sighed. It seemed that phase two would be necessary after all. Behind her back, she made a subtle signal with her claws she'd told him to look for.

"Stop staring at her!" Dick yelled angrily, causing Penguin to stop in mid sentence.

"What?" he asked, then he noticed that the young man was speaking to Rocco, not him. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"I wasn't-" Rocco began, only to be yelled at again.

"The _hell_ you weren't. I'm only going to tell you this once. Stop. Staring. At. Her."

"Look, kid," the large henchman said angrily, clenching a fist and waving it threateningly in Dick's face, "I dunno what your problem is, but you'd better-" And that was as far as he got before Dick drove his fist into Rocco's midsection, doubling him over. Dick leaped upwards and drove the instep of his foot into his face, knocking the man out cold, blood trickling from a nose that looked broken.

Selina smiled at Penguin and said, "He's a little overprotective. Now, about the diamonds..."

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_Cash in hand, Dick and Selina go out and celebrate their victory in_

_Chapter 3_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Iiiiii'm dreaming of a whiiiiiiite crisis, with every crisis card I wriiiiiite. ...what is a crisis card anyway? Is it like a sympathy card with more immediacy? "Sorry your SUV rolled off the road and caught fire and you're trapped in it." "Sorry you got shot. I'm sure it's just a flesh wound." "Sorry your secret satellite gained sentience, went rogue, injected millions of people with nanotechnology that turns them into powerful mindless drone soldiers and declared war one the world's metahuman population. Better luck next year, eh?" Anyway, yeah, characters not owned. You know the drill. Thanks go out to Chris Dee, who's Cat-Tales stories (which you should all read) taught me how to write Selina.

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**Partners**

Chapter 3

_Four months later..._

One unexpected bonus of their partnership was that between the two of them, they were better able to plan ahead should they encounter Bat-trouble on a job. The boy had a devilish creativity and a knack for luring Batman into nonlethal traps that kept him off their tails. Over the last several months, they'd left Batman behind dangling from a flagpole by his cape, stuck on a speeding truck without his grapnel, dropped into a twelve-foot deep pool of styrofoam peanuts and (her personal favorite) locked in a concrete vault with a dozen stray cats. It was a good thing she'd gotten a hold of this kid before someone else did. If he was working for Joker, Batman and all of Gotham might be wearing deathsmiles by now.

In the early days, she'd always enjoyed letting a rooftop rendezvous with the Bat unfold on its own, but not long before Dick's arrival, she'd frankly gotten bored with them. Batman was clearly not going to allow himself to have feelings for a thief, and if there was a way around that, she'd yet to spot it. Spontaneity was pretty much dead. Then, Dick's entering the picture necessitated a change. It became apparent that some planning ahead was in order, so they'd both be on the same page if there was trouble. When they began to plan, he'd been surprised at how meticulously she planned ahead. He joked, "I thought everything you did fell into place because you were just that smooth."

"Oh Dick," she said, leaning forward to brush her chest against his shoulder and place one hand lightly on his wrist, "I _am _that smooth." His pulse racing, Dick had been forced to agree, although he did ask for continued demonstration, which elicited a playful smack to the back of the head and an amused chuckle. His crush on her was obvious, but that was what it was, an adolescent crush. She ignored it most of the time, teased him with it on rare occasions like this, and discouraged it when she had to, which wasn't often; he really was rather a gentleman about it.

After another successful heist the night before, they'd parted for the evening to celebrate on their own. Selina went to a charity event at the Gotham Museum of Art, which sounded a lot like work to him. He'd said so, with an eye towards inviting her to join him, and she'd laughed, "I'm going there to _enjoy the art_, not to case the joint." She'd tousled his hair, (which he'd spent ten whole minutes trying to comb into some semblance of order, but he was hardly going to object in this instance), and left the apartment in that black dress he privately thought was entirely too good for Gotham's wealthy elite.

He was on his way to his own age-appropriate celebration (well, appropriate to the age on his phony driver's license, anyway), a trendy nightclub in the Upper East Side. Mondo, the guy who'd recruited Dick into his street gang two years ago, was working as a bouncer there. He'd cleaned up after his six-month stint in Blackgate, and was going by Michael now. Dick had kept in touch, figuring he might be a good guy to know. He'd give the ID a once-over, more to see how good Dick's work was than to verify his age, and let him in.

On the way there, he heard a rough laughter coming from an alley as he was passing by. Despite the old adage about cats and curiosity, he'd never noticed any reluctance on Selina's part to poke her claws into an unfamiliar situation. Four men, all sporting gang insignia he wasn't familiar with, had cornered a young woman. "Hey now pretty girl, no need to be scared. Aint we bein' friendly?"

She didn't look all that scared from what Dick could see. She answered, "I suppose that depends on your definition of the word." She eyed them warily, moving slowly into a defensive posture. "Exactly how 'friendly' were you trying to be?"

"Real friendly," the punk assured her, leering.

"You don't seem all that friendly to me." Dick couldn't be sure who was more surprised: the men, the woman they had cornered, or himself for saying that._ 'What the hell are you doing, Grayson?' _he berated himself. Still, he had said it, and he didn't see any point in backing out now. Besides, she was cute. "Maybe you should work on the whole friendly thing some more. Practice on each other, y'know?"

"This fool think he funny," the banger in the tanktop said, turning to face him.

"I think I'm fuckin' hilarious!" Dick said loudly, glaring menacingly at the four of them, "Now take a hike!" This was another of Selina's lessons in cathood. Sometimes, when an alpha male growls loudly enough, lesser males will back down. As all four stalked towards him, it occurred to him that she'd also said this rarely works on people, at least not when you really want it to.

He slipped into a ready stance, and as he did, he noticed two things about the woman. First, that she had red hair that extended just a little ways past her shoulders, and second, that she was glowering at him. She was angry at _him_?_ 'Holy lack of gratitude...' _He formed a rough plan for how to beat the four. He'd never fought four men on his own, but hey, if he could go toe-to-toe with Batman and walk away, this ought to be a piece of cake, right?

Whether he was correct or not, the situation changed quickly. The guy farthest from him suddenly tumbled forward, hitting the pavement face-first. A moment later, and the woman had his arm bent behind his back, her foot on the back of his neck. The other three looked at her in surprise, and Dick saw his opening. He leaped forwards, twisting his body around and slamming his food into the back of another man's head. The woman gave the guy she'd downed a swift kick to the temple, and the two of them faced off against the pair still conscious. Deciding that two-on-two, they odds weren't in their favor, the other two bolted.

The woman took a deep breath, then frowned at Dick. "I _had _them," she said, no longer glaring, but still mildly irked, "but I guess thanks are in order anyway."

He smiled at her. He supposed that would do for gratitude. He offered a hand to her and said, "Dick," by way of introduction.

Green eyes twinkled back at him, "That better be your name," she said, the corners of her lips curling upward in a hint of a smile, "or you're joining Sleeping Beauty over there," pointing at one of the downed men. She accepted the hand and answered, "Barbara."

Impulsively, Dick performed a florid (if somewhat comical) bow, and brought his lips to the back of her hand. "My Lady Barbara," he said in a fair impersonation of the grandiose pseudo-British accent Pop Haly used to use during the shows.

Barbara couldn't keep the amusement from her face, "Pretty charming for a guy I just met in a dark alley."

"Given the competition, it's not hard to be Don Juan by comparison," he said, indicating the unconscious pair. The reference to the famous Spanish lover was not an idle one. He'd read the book last week. Dick hadn't been a regular attendee of any institution properly called a 'school' in over a year, since he'd ran away from his last foster home. Selina didn't concern herself with schooling, but said he did not have the option of remaining uneducated. When he'd protested that he didn't need no education, she delivered the closest thing to a lecture he'd ever heard from her.

"If Catwoman is going to be seen with an apprentice," she had explained, "that apprentice is going to reflect on her. In the unlikely event that Batman ever masters the people skills necessary to make a friend, you don't think he'd allow his sidekick to dress up in bright colors and crack jokes all night, do you?" Dick laughed at the very idea. "I don't mind that you don't want to sit in a classroom six or seven hours a day. It's really a point in favor of your sanity, I would say, but I won't allow an ignorant kitten to hit the rooftops with me."

"Catwoman," she had explained, "may be seen by the uninformed as some leather-clad slut who figured out how to pick a lock somewhere along the way, but she is not. She always steals the best piece in the room. Yes, it's worth the most money, but she knows what _is _the best piece in the room. More importantly, she knows _why _it's the best piece. If I wish, I can converse on a professional level with artists, sculptors, jewelers, locksmiths, archaeologists, collectors, writers, journalists, computer programmers, art historians and admirers alike. Or even critics, although I've rarely been required to speak to _them_, thank whatever deity you choose for that."

At which point she had delivered her ultimatum, "I'm not going to teach you, either. I can point you in any direction you like, but it's your responsibility. If you don't, you're out." That had been more than enough to persuade him. As she'd expected, he did not enroll in the local institution of lower learning. Instead, in those times when they weren't training or prowling, he became acquainted with Gotham City's museums, galleries and libraries.

Barbara nodded in agreement with his assessment of his 'competition'. _'She's very cute...' _he thought and said, "So how about getting out of this dark alley and going somewhere like..." at which point worlds failed him. _'Like where? A bar? Coffee? Movie? Taking her home doesn't seem like a good idea, even if asking her didn't get me punched.' _"...not an alley?" he finished, lamely.

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_Meanwhile_...

Selina smiled at the turn the conversation had taken. She knew of him by reputation, of course, (who didn't?) but it seemed to her that it didn't do the man justice. Tall, dark, and good-looking enough to be trouble even if the man _wasn't _a billionaire, he really was quite charming. Smarter than the gossip columnists gave him credit for, too.

Chatting amiably, he'd just made a remarkably insightful point about the Rodin sculpture they were viewing, The Eternal Idol, which depicted a pair of lovers. While it was traditionally considered a sculpture of passionate love, the two lovers both had their hands behind their backs. They were barely touching. Where the reasoning generally offered was that of a worshipful love, he suggested that Rodin had held an idealized, unrealistic view of such love, and pointed out that the model for the female of the sculpture, his student and lifelong lover Camille Claudel, temporarily broke up with him not long after he finished this piece.

Most curiously, after he had said this, he suddenly seemed briefly annoyed for no apparent reason. At which point he proceeded to make a pass at her so blatant that it made Dick's clumsy gestures look like masterpieces of subtlety by comparison. There was more going on here than she could detect, and she could usually detect quite a lot.

"Indeed," she said agreeably, deftly turning aside the pass without actually rejecting it. "Tell me more, Mr. Wayne," she said, which produced a flushing of his cheesk._ 'Understandable, after the crude attempt he just made, 'telling me more' would require four-letter words and body parts. He's _not _a boor, but is pretending to be. Why?' _Her cat-curiosity was aroused.

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_After months as a team, the partners handle these challenges on their own_

_in Chapter 4_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Zatanna cast a spell on me. She said "Uoy t'nod nwo eseht sretcarahc..." Spiteful hctib.

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**Partners**

Chapter 4

"Coffee", Barbara had suggested, and coffee it was. They'd both given each other abbreviated backgrounds. She was twenty-one, her father was a cop, she worked as a librarian and studied law. He had told her that he was nineteen (a lie), that he had grown up in the circus (true), and that he did odd jobs while studying whatever took his fancy (true, if not the whole truth). Barbara smiled and said, "Quite the modern-day gypsy, aren't you?"

"Romany," Dick corrected, not disagreeing with her.

Barbara's eyebrow arched, "I realize that the term is a misnomer with regards to the people, but the connotation..." she stopped as she noticed Dick's smile, "Don't tell me."

Dick grinned and nodded. "On my father's side." They both laughed. He asked, "Ok, having verified that you are in fact reasonably intelligent..." he began.

"Reasonably?" she said archly.

"That's all I've _verified..._"

"Nice save."

"Thank you. Anyway, having verified reasonable intelligence, what were you doing in that alley, anyway?"

Barbara's cheeks colored. "A police car passed by on the street."

Dick's surprise was evident. _'Ok, beautiful, smart, funny...and on the run from the law? Someone likes me.'_ He found himself saying, "Uh, if you need a place to-" and was interrupted by an outburst of laughter from her.

She shook her head and tried to answer, "Not like..." but couldn't go on, as paroxysms of laughter overwhelmed her again. Dick felt his face reddening. Others in the restaurant stared at the pair, the laughing girl and the blushing boy. Getting control of herself, she said, "Oh God, I'm sorry Dick, but I'm not a _criminal_," laughing a bit more before saying, "I told you, my Dad's a cop. We had an argument, and I wouldn't put it past him to tell the guys to watch for me."

Dick, still blushing furiously, nodded in understanding. _'Good one, Grayson. Offer a cop's daughter your place as a hideout. Fucking brilliant.'_ He forced himself to smile with her, saying, "If it's not too personal, what was the argument about?" Barbara stopped laughing, and her face turned stony. _'Uh-oh'_ He said, "I'm sorry, it's none of my business."

Barbara shook her head. "No, no, it's not you." She sighed, "I love what my father does, and I _know_ I could do it too. My academy application was rejected again. It's not even a matter of needing his help, every guy on the board knows Captain Gordon doesn't want his daughter on the force, so he doesn't even have to say a word and it's still impossible. So now I'm finding another way-" she cut off somewhat abruptly.

"I can't quite relate, there," Dick said. "My parents had me in the family business at the age of eight." She smiled, her cheeks dimpling, and he asked,"What?"

"I'm just picturing you dressing up in tights and flying around."

"Better than picturing my flying around without tights, I suppose," her cheeks flushed, and he grinned. "Or maybe not," he said laughing. She smiled and shook her head, fighting off a yawn. "Bored of me already?" he asked lightly.

"No, not at all. I'm just not used to the late nights, yet."

Dick nodded. _'Yet?'_ he thought, asking, "Can I walk you home?" then hid a wince behind a sip from his cup. _'To meet her police captain dad? While you're at it, why don't you fix him up with Selina?'_

"Down, tiger," she said with a smile. Her calling him that made him cough and sputter violently. "Are you alright?"

He coughed once more and said hoarsely, "Just went down the wrong pipe. M'okay." He cleared his throat, then pulled his wallet out. He took one from a thicker sheaf of bills than Barbara would have expected, and laid the twenty onto the table.

When he stood, as if to leave, she arched an eyebrow. "Bit much for two cups of coffee," she noted.

Dick shrugged. "Smallest one I have, and I hate waiting for change."

Curiouser and curiouser. _'Who's he doing odd jobs for?'_ she thought, _'the mafia?'_ "I'll tell you what," she began, but was interrupted by a massive clatter from the kitchen. It sounded like half the kitchen had just fallen to the floor.

Everyone was briefly silent, until Dick joked loudly, "You know, on second thought, _hold_ the eggs!" eliciting a couple of chuckles (and several pairs of rolled eyes). He glanced towards the kitchen, then frowned. There was no more sound coming from inside. The kind of mess that made that noise wasn't generally easy to clean up in silence. Some instinct was telling him something was wrong, and Selina always advised listening to those. He walked across the diner, towards the ktichen.

Barbara wasn't watching the kitchen, she was watching him. His goofy joke made her smile, but he'd gotten this odd look on his face, then suddenly headed for the kitchen. After a moment's pause, she followed him. She half expected him to kick the door open, Hollywood-style, but instead he gently pushed it open just enough to slip through quietly. She slipped in after.

Pots and pans and dishes were scattered all over the kitchen. Two large men in black suits were standing over an elderly man in a dirty white apron. The cook's nose was bleeding heavily, and one of the two thugs was holding one of the man's skillets in his hand. "You don't seem to understand how this works, pal," the other one said. "Your payment is on time, and in full, or else. If you aint makin' enough money in this dump, make better food." Neither seemed to notice the two who had entered.

Barbara glanced in Dick's direction, and almost recoiled in surprise. An expression of pure rage had appeared on his face. In a soft, snarling whisper, barely audible, he said, "Protection." Before she could even nod her head in assent, he was in motion. In the alley, she'd seen that he handled himself well. Her, in the kitchen, she saw just how well.

He began by kicking out the legs of the talkative one, sending the big man sprawling onto his back. "What the-" the other one began before Dick sank his fist into the man's gut. He swung the frying pan at Dick's head, but Dick effortlessly ducked, and when the swing left the larger man off-balance, Dick grabbed at the back of his sport coat with both hands, and rammed the man's face into the wall.

While the one man slumped unconscious to the floor, the other had struggled back to his feet, but Dick was on him in an instant. As fast as Barbara could see, he rammed an elbow into his solar plexus, a knee into his gut, and a kick to the back of his head. She'd only seen one man move that fast. The man stumbled forward towards the kitchen's cooktop. _'Snap out of it!'_ she thought and raced forward to keep him from falling face-first onto the griddle.

She reached for one arm, and saw Dick was holding the other. Before she could pull the man away, Dick had grabbed his hair, growling, "Your boss, who is he?" The man was speechless, staring at Dick in shock. He pushed the man's face inches away from the sizzling cooktop and said, "One last time. Tell me your _capo's_ name, or they'll serve you with hash browns, capice?"

Barbara had already begun sizing up Dick for a punch to the short ribs to pull him away from the man, when he decided to talk. "Bertinelli!" he shouted.

"Good call," Dick said, not letting him up yet. "Now here's the deal. You're going to keep your word when it comes to 'protection.' This place is off your list, permanently. You don't steal any more of his money, and nothing happens to the owner, the restaurant, or anyone in it. Anything happens, Bertinelli finds out you ratted him out. We have a deal, or are you breakfast?"

"We got a deal!" the panicked man said.

"Good." Dick said, pulling him away from the heated metal. He tugged on the man's lapels, straightening them, and then smashed his fist into the man's temple, sending him out cold to the floor. Barbara observed this all without interfering. On the one hand, she would have preferred to call the police, but on the other, she could hardly oppose what he'd done without choking on the hypocrisy of it. Dick grabbed a pen and wrote a phone number down, handing it to the cook. "Get some ice on that," he suggested. He pulled a pen out of the man's apron and wrote a phone number down, "These guys or any of their buddies drop by, call me. I won't answer, but I'll get the message."

Without waiting for an answer, he stalked off towards the back-door exit. She stared. Dick was reminding her quite a lot of _him._ She could have called her father, but she knew where that would lead. Even if they got an honest judge, the two goons would be looking at 18 months at most. Not enough to roll over on this Bertinelli guy. Meanwhile, someone would be back.

She made her way around the assorted pots and unconscious mobsters, following Dick out into the alley. Trying for levity, she said, "Well, our date _started_ in an alley, I guess it's only right that it ends in one." Dick snorted, reaching up to his face with his sleeve, as if to brush away sweat, but Barbara hadn't noticed any perspiration, and did notice that he brushed mostly at his cheeks. "You want to talk about it?" she asked, putting one hand on his shoulder.

Strangely enough, Dick found that he did. In years, he hadn't told anyone other than Selina. Maybe another telling wouldn't hurt too much. If nothing else, it'd be one more person who knew about John and Mary Grayson. "I told you I hadn't seen my parents in a while. I didn't say why..."

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As it turned out, Barbara walked _him_ home, that night. While she still wasn't sure what he'd done back in the kitchen was the best way to handle it, it's clear that the instinctual response there, and before, in the alley, was to try to make things right. She could admire that.

For his part, Dick was still pensive over what had happened. If things worked out, and Dick would have to check back later to make sure they did, he really hadn't done anything other than help out one guy. Obviously he wasn't the only victim, and he'd done nothing to the guy responsible other than cost him some pocket change and bruised a pair of his goons. _'Maybe I could give Batman a heads-up?' _A smirk crossed his lips at the thought.

Lost in their own thoughts, neither of them noticed that despite not being in the best of neighborhoods, the other didn't seem particularly worried. Nor did either of them seem to notice that at some point, the backs of their hands had brushed past each other, and were now clasping each other gently.

As they stopped in front of his building, he said, "I'd like to see you again, Barbara."

She smiled. "I'd like that."

After a moment's hesitation, he leaned forward, touching his lips to hers. A gentle, cautious kiss at first, exploring the texture of each other's lips, then of their tongues. Their eyes closed and he felt his arms encircling her waist, one soft hand of hers on his shoulder, the other on the back of his hand. After their lips finally parted, they shared a breathless moment, blue eyes staring into green. A moment later, both of them made their way inside.

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_The next morning..._

Selina's eyes eventually pushed themselves open. She'd been at least half-awake for ten minutes, but hadn't moved outside of a languorous stretch. Reaching beside her, she found she was the only one in the oversized bed. _'Huh,'_ she thought, nonplussed, _'I'd have pegged Bruce for a late-riser.'_ Locating the bathroom, she showered quickly.

Returning, she found that her dress, shoes and other clothes of the night before had been hung in a clear plastic garment bag, and a blouse and slacks in a size almost exactly her own had been laid on the bed. _'That butler has too sharp an eye for my own good_,' she thought. It was just as well, she hadn't _really_ wanted to steal that Monet in the hall, anyway. The instant she stepped out of the bedroom, he was there in front of her.

"The Master sends his apologies," he said crisply and properly, "He had to attend to emergency business, and requested I let you sleep. I've prepared a light breakfast for you, though I may of course drive you home now, if you wish."

The unstated implication that he would be driving her home, and wouldn't hear of calling for a taxi, made Selina smile. "Thank you, Pennyworth." In the English tradition, the master of the home, and his guests, all addressed the butler by his surname, although she recalled Bruce calling him 'Alfred'. "I'm in no rush. Breakfast sounds wonderful."

"Certainly, Miss Kyle. This way, please." He led her to a small dining room that had one place setting at the table, with copies of the Gotham Gazette, the New York Times and the Daily Planet folded nearby. In the middle of the table sat a large tray filled with fruit, decoratively arranged. Next to the table were large covered trays of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles, french toast, assorted pastries, english muffins, and dry breads, with bowls of jams, jellies, butter, syrups, and pitchers of milk, coffee, tea and four kinds of juice.

Selina's brow arched. Was Alfred expecting the Gotham Knights to drop by for a snack? She glanced in his direction, then noticed him pretending not to be noticing her noticing him. "Is something amiss?" he asked formally.

_'Ahhhh,'_ Selina thought with amusement, _'He's compensating for Bruce leaving early. Interesting.'_ She began to spoon eggs onto her plate, and shook her head, "Nothing at all," she said, adding a raisin muffin and filling a cup with tea before returning to the table, adding a bit of fruit and sitting down.

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_That same next morning..._

Dick's eyes opened and he saw red. Somehow, a lock of her hair had draped itself across his face. He smiled and craned his neck, kissing the pale skin of her shoulder. This elicited a pleasant sigh from her, and she turned a bit, now facing away from him, apparently still asleep. A part of him wanted to wake her, but he decided he'd better not. Selina was probably home by now and-

_'Oh shit, Selina!' _He felt a momentary panic, which then subsided as rational thought kicked in. Costumes and gear were stowed, the merchandise had all been fenced, neither of them were wanted criminals, (at least not under their real names). And, Dick's flirting aside, obviously they were just friends. _'Well, _just_ isn't the right word, perhaps.' _She might be annoyed by the articles of clothing he seemed to recall had been dropped in the living room, but that was hardly cause for panic.

He swung his legs out onto the floor and stood, grabbing the bathrobe from off of his desk chair and wrapping it around him. As he opened the door and moved out into the hallway, he noticed that none of the lights were on. It was light out, but Selina usually kept her windows covered in case any feline costumes or gear was being worn and stored or what have you. A quick check confirmed that she hadn't come home at all. _'Interesting. Maybe she changed her mind about robbing the place, and decided to hide during the day?'_ It wouldn't have been the first time, although she usually could get what she wanted and get out before any museum staff arrived.

Dick shrugged. He'd look in on things soon enough. In the meantime, he collected the clothes strewn about the floor and furniture in the living room, and the one sock from the kitchen that one of the cats must have carried in, showered, and started making breakfast for two.

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_Two hours later..._

They shared one more lingering kiss as a limousine pulled in behind the cab he'd called. She climbed into the back seat and the cab drove off. It was at that point that he noticed that the limousine wasn't some oversized Lincoln, but a classic Rolls-Royce, gunmetal grey. A slim man with a mustache in a black uniform and, of all things, white gloves, had opened the back door, and Selina had climbed out. The man gave her a formal bow before getting back into the driver's seat.

Selina glanced at the taxi receding in the distance, then looked at Dick with an amused expression. Dick similarly glanced at the limousine which was now beginning to drive away, then looked back at her. Their smirking looks mirrored each other, until Selina said, "C'mon, Tiger. Let's get inside before we drown in our collective smugness." Dick laughed, and went back in.

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_The cats go prowling, but the Bats are on their tails_

_in Chapter 5_


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I need to stop using song lyrics for these pseudo-comedic disclaimers. I started out by typing the first two lines of "Bohemian Rhapsody" and then played out the entire song in my head, completely forgetting what I was doing. If you see the phrase "Any way the wind blows" in this chapter, you now know where it came from. All characters you see here are owned by DC Comics. Any song lyrics I forget to edit out are owned by Queen.

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**Partners**

Chapter 5

That evening, as they pored through every section of the blueprints of the Roca Linda Jewelry Boutique that were spread out over the kitchen table, committing every nook and cranny of the building to memory, Selina asked "So tell me about her." Well ok, technically it wasn't _phrased_ as a question, but it was still _sort_ of asking, she reasoned. Though he didn't look up from the vault's schematic, Dick's face reddened.

He asked, "Are you going to tell me about him?" in response. He didn't really want to know, but he figured she wasn't about to say anything, and that would mean that he-

"He's Bruce Wayne," Selina answered without hesitation. Dick stared. "What?" she asked.

"Isn't that a little..." Dick searched for the right word, discarding several that would have gotten him clawed, "...public?" he finished. "I mean, his 'dates' tend to make the tabloids. And if Catwoman is planning to rob the pl-"

Selina's eyes hardened and her hand shot out, grabbing his shoulder, her fingernails pressing into his skin. They weren't razor-sharp metal, but they got the point across, especially dug into a nerve cluster as they were. "If Catwoman were planning to 'rob the place', we would have been studying blueprints of the house and maps of the grounds. Do I need to discuss this further?"

He winced. "No," he answered immediately, the pressure lightening when he did. "I just assumed..." the pressure returned. "OW!" They both knew what he had assumed. "I'm sorry, it was stupid. Look, there was a thought process behind the assumption other than that!"

She let go of his shoulder and sighed, "That he's an airhead playboy. Yeah, I've read those too. Gossip columns never get the whole story, and in this case I don't think they've got any of it."

"I'll believe that when I see proof," Dick muttered, rubbing his shoulder and staring back down at the blueprints.

An amused expression crossed Selina's face. She stood up and left the room briefly, and she came back a moment later with a series of printouts. Dick gave her a querying expression. "I wanted proof, too," she explained. He flipped through the stock reports which showed that the growth of Wayne Enterprises increased significantly two quarters after Wayne assumed the position of CEO, and had continued since. The last showed a picture of a sculpture, two lovers, carved in white marble. "Recognize it?" Selina asked.

"Rodin's Eternal Idol," Dick answered. Even dilettantes would recognize this piece, and Dick was rapidly passing out of that category into the realm of serious study. Selina nodded and explained Bruce's theory to him. He blinked in surprise. "I'd never thought of that. The hands..." he stared at the picture for a moment, pondering the woman's face. "He expression is generally considered to represent the divinity which the man sees in her, but now that you mention it..." Dick studied it for a moment, "I'm looking at it with modern eyes, but she does look kind of bored, doesn't she?" He frowned, "you heard this from Wayne?"

"I did. He wasn't parroting, either. The man knows art. Which wouldn't make him the first rich hedonist who did..." she trailed off.

"...But how many rich hedonists would look at a piece depicting supposed passion and see a disconnect with reality and a relationship in trouble underneath?" Dick finished, nodding. "I see what you mean."

Selina nodded as well. "The man is a puzzle. By all accounts, he barely shows up for board meetings, yet since he's been there, WE has undergone the most rapid growth in its history."

"Not proof," Dick said, getting into the mystery of it himself, "but then you add in the airhead image and contrast it to the art historian-slash-successful CEO reality. It's still not proof, but it's an odd coincidence. Get one more example, and there's a pattern."

"There's a pattern," Selina assured, thinking of his early-morning disappearance. Dick's brow arched questioningly, but Selina shook her head. "Your turn now," she said, grinning. "I know, turnabout's a bitch."

"Alright," Dick sighed, "her name's Barbara." Dick laughed, suddenly, "This is going to sound really bad, but I met her in an alley."

Selina laughed. "You do seem to have the most interesting meetings with strange women in alleys. Maybe you should try 'Alley Cat' as your name?" She felt something brushing up against her leg. Reaching down, she lifted the black cat up to her lap, stroking his fur.

He chuckled, "Maybe not. Although it wasn't that different a situation..."

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_A year and a half earlier..._

Ever since Mondo had been sent to Blackgate, Dick had become increasingly fed up with life as an Eastsider. _'Even the name sucks,'_ he thought. Mondo had actually listened to Dick's ideas for how to bring in more cash. J.B. seemed to think that back-alley muggings were a better way, and Dick hadn't failed to notice that he seemed certain that every young woman who passed by was carrying a fortune in her purse.

And what were they doing tonight? Waiting in an alley for the black-haired woman they'd seen crossing the street. Dick was sick of it. He was done. Mike's couch wasn't that comfortable, anyway. Worst came to worst, he could turn himself back into the foster system, although that option wasn't much better than prison.

And then _she_ walked by. Her black hair cascaded down her back in dark waves. When J.B. and Mike stepped out of the alley, interposing themselves in her way, green eyes flashing with amusement at the half-dozen youths arrayed before her. Staring at the purple sweater and blue jeans which tightly hugged the curves of her body, with the certain'ty of adolescence, Dick mentally pronounced her the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

J.B. was practically slobbering when he said, "You ain't in a good part of town, girl."

She still smiled, but her eyes turned steely. In a flat, dangerous tone, she said, "Thanks for telling me. Boy."

Dick frowned. Neither of them appeared to be afraid of the other, but Dick was getting the sense that J.B. was the one who _should_ be. "Man, I don't think we-"

"Shut up, kid," J.B. said.

"What're we doin' with this shit, anyway?" Dick asked, "You gonna mug yourself rich? Trust me main, this ain't a good idea." He glanced at the woman, who was looking in her direction, a curious expression on her face.

"Mondo may have let you do his thinkin' for him, but I don't need you for that."

"You need my thinkin' t'keep your shoes tied," Dick grumbled, not quite as softly as he'd intended. "Shit..." he murmured when he saw J.B. turn to face him, livid.

"Grab his punk-ass!" he shouted, and the two next to him reached for his arms. _'Looks like it's early retirement,'_ Dick thought as he punched when of his apparently now-former comrades in the midsection. Donnie grabbed his right arm and tried to hold the smaller youth in place. Dick flung his legs and waist up in the air, and his arm was gripped tighter in response. Dick used the hold to transfer the momentum of his falling weight to the other man, hurling him over his shoulder, the back of Donnie's head cracking against a garbage can.

A gunshot rang out, echoing through the night. Everyone turned to see J.B. holding a gun pointing straight up. It was pointing that way because the woman had pinned his arm against the side of his head. They all watched as she slammed her fist into his face. He fell back, blood pouring out of his nose. The gun feel from his hands and clattered to the concrete. "The ho!" he shouted, his voice somewhat muffled by the hands clutching his broken nose, "Get the ho!"

"Now you're making me upset," she said, all trace of amusement having vanished, and the three Eastsiders still left standing (Dick no longer counting himself among their number) charged her en masse. Before Dick could decide whether to help her, the question was rendered moot, and it was just Dick, Selina, and four unconscious Eastsiders. J.B. had run off in the melee.

He watched her warily, and his observations prompted a return of the amused smile. "Thanks," he offered. He hadn't seen who the gun had been pointed at before she knocked it aside, but even if she hadn't just saved his life, he'd watched her take out three men without much effort. Courtesy seemed in order.

"You're certainly the most polite mugger I've ever met," she said slyly.

"No one believes in customer service anymore," he quipped, "and in any case, I think a career change is clearly in order."

"Probably a good idea..." she said, glancing off to the side. From behind a garbage can, a black cat stepped out into the alley. It peered out at them, and proceeded to brush by Dick's leg. Dick glanced down, seeming surprised.

"Hey there little fella..." he said, reaching down and giving the cat a light scratching in between the ears.

Selina stared at this. She wouldn't call herself superstitious (she _certainly_ didn't believe black cats were bad luck), but she didn't presume she knew everything about how the universe was built. Just the obvious fact that she was at its center. (Every cat knew that!) The cat's appearance made her take another look at the kid in the alley. "Pick up the cat," she said.

Dick stopped in mid-scratch at the strange command, "What?"

"The cat," she said, "pick him up. If he lets you." Realizing that this must look more than a little strange, she said, "Please," returning his prior courtesy. Shrugging, Dick picked up the cat, letting it settle between one arm and his body, petting the cat with the other. It began to purr. She nodded, "What's your name?"

"Dick."

"You have a home, Dick?"

Dick glanced at Mike, lying face-down about six feet away from her. "His couch," he explained, "so probably not."

Selina nodded once more. "Follow me. Bring the cat."

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"...I'm not exactly sure _why_ she decided to stay. She just did." Dick shrugged.

Selino shook her head. _'The kid has absolutely no idea how he looks, does he?'_ She asked, "So in between, you said she was at Gotham U. Did she happen to mention what she was studying?"

"Law."

Selina frowned, "Did she say law or pre-law?"

"What's the difference?"

_'Still got a few gaps in his education,'_ she thought. "_How_ old is she, exactly?"

Dick hesitated, "She didn't say."

He could usually lie like a champ, but he hadn't been expecting that. She caught that pause. "Ok, it's not my business, and I'm not going to get involved, but be careful, alright?"

Dick looked both embarrassed and annoyed, "Holy sudden maternalism. You want to see the torn wrappers or something?"

"Be _careful_," Selina said, glaring, "about doing something that's going to bring the attention of her _police officer father_ on your not-exactly-legal living arrangement, here."

"Oh," Dick said sheepishly, "That."

"Yes. That."

"It's okay. She thinks I'm nineteen."

Selina stifled the sudden urge to claw the hell out of him. "That poor girl," she muttered, which for some reason elicited a grin from him. "I don't want to know what you think is funny about this. Let's get back to work."

"Not that, this," Dick said, holding up the picture of the Rodin she'd printed out. "You said this was at the museum you were at with Wayne?" Selina nodded in response. "You want to steal that, instead?" he asked.

Selina found herself purring.

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_Five nights later_

It had been luck that she had found them. _She _wasn't even the one supposed to be looking for them. Batman was sure they were going for the Cat's-Eye Opal on display at the Roca Linda Jewelers, and had staked it out for the night. She was allowed to patrol on her own, for the first time since he had agreed to train her.

As she moved along the rooftops, she briefly amused herself with the thought of dropping in on Dick, whose apartment wasn't far away. _'Yeah, right.'_ It was a fun thought, though. She snapped out of this when she saw movement nearby. It was them. She'd gotten the full-course on them earlier that evening.

"Catwoman," he had said as an image of a woman in purple leather appeared on the screen. "Thief. Primarily of jewels and _objet d'art_. She frequently attempts to use her sexuality to distract me."

Barbara caught a slight tic in his jaw. "Attempts?" she asked.

He glared at her. "Attempts. Skilled fighter, watch out for her claws. Six months ago she began appearing with a partner in his mid-to-late teens." A short video played, grainy security footage showing Catwoman opening a vault while a young man in black waved at the camera and made a goofy face. "The nature of their relationship is unknown. She refers to him as 'Tiger'. Wisecracking smart-ass with a penchant for horrible puns. Well-trained enough to pose a problem. He has claws, but prefers to rely on a more aerial assault. He is an extremely talented acrobat."

"As of late, the pair have shown a tendency to lure a pursuer into annoying traps." His expression practically dared her to mention that no one but him had pursued them. She wisely chose not to. "In addition to the Cat's-eye, Roca Linda also has a selection of canary diamonds on display. I'm certain she won't be able to resist. Be ready in case I request backup."

And here they were. "Batman," she said softly into the communicator in her cowl, "I see them. The cats."

WHAT ARE YOU DOING? She winced as his shout was piped into her ear. I told you to watch the city! Do not engage, I will see them when they arrive here.

She scowled. _'Jerk,'_ she thought, saying, "You might be waiting a while. They're not headed in your direction."

There was a short silence, followed by, What is their location?

_'Don't apologize or anything.' _"Near 42nd and Buchanan, heading west." She heard the firing of a grapple line.

The Gotham Museum of Art. I'll meet you there.

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"Cameras down," he reported as he returned to the display room.

"Alarm disengaged," she replied.

"Think _he'd_ buy it?" he asked.

"Who?"

Tiger grinned at her, "You know who. He could afford it."

"Funny," she said as she cut through the glass of the display with her claws, leaving a hole big enough to remove the small sculpture and place it in the bag he had strapped over one shoulder.

"Nobody is buying it," a gravelly voice said behind them.

Tiger and Catwoman both whirled to face him, only it wasn't just him. It was him. And _her._ "I'm seeing double," Tiger said.

"Then you need your eyes checked, Catboy," the woman in the bat-costumed replied.

The cats glanced in each other's direction. "I don't believe it," Tiger said, "He made a friend. A girlfriend."

"I'm as surprised as you, kid." Catwoman said, sounding annoyed.

"You're going to put that back, Catwoman," Batman said.

"I'm guessing your day job ain't 'fortune-teller,' Bats." that was Tiger.

"I'm guessing your day job isn't 'schoolteacher,' mister 'ain't'."

"I don't have a day job, Bat-girlie. That whole thing about crime not paying? Utter bullshit."

"You might feel differently once you're behind bars," Batgirl said.

"I'll take the hottie."

"No way," Catwoman said with a slow smile, "I've got him."

"Do they always talk this much?" Batgirl asked.

"Ever since he showed up," Batman answered.

"_Some_ people just have more to say than 'put it back' grunt 'thief' grunt."

"I don't need to spend my time talking to thieves."

"Be honest," Tiger said to Batgirl, "he's this much of a jackass to you too, isn't he?"

Batgirl hesitated, which caused Tiger to laugh, Catwoman to smile, and Batman to glare. At _her_. This brief switch in focus caused Catwoman to say, "Sain't Andrew," and she and Tiger both ran directly at the Bats. About six feet away from them, Catwoman suddenly shifted direction, sliding her legs into Batgirl's, tripping her up while Tiger jumped over the both of them, flipping in mid-air and landing both feet into Batman's chest. Both of the bats were off their feet, only momentarily, but just enough to allow the cats the chance to start to run.

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_The chase is on_

_in Chapter 6_


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Some days you get the bear. Some days the bear gets you. Usually when the bear gets you, one way or another your days of getting the bear are pretty much over. Serves you right, bear-getter. I don't own any of these characters. Or any bears. I have a cat that I'm pretty sure hibernates. That probably doesn't count, though. Speaking of cats, blame Chris Dee for making it impossible for me to imagine Selina calling Batman anything other than 'jackass'.

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**Partners**

Chapter 6

Saint Andrew was the patron saint of Scotland. The diagonal red cross on the British flag was the cross of Saint Andrew. And Catwoman apparently used it as the code for her and her partner-in-crime to switch opponents. These thoughts passed through Batman's mind as he ran across the rooftops. It gave him insight into her thinking, much as the fact that he called it 'castling' would have given her insight into his. "They're going to split up," he said quietly, knowing the comm system he'd activated would relay it to the speaker built into the ear of her cowl. "I'll follow whichever of them has the sculpture."

"Roger that," she said, her grimace nearly a match for his. Neither of them were happy with what had happened in the museum. She'd been ready for the aerial attack of the junior cat, and then her legs were taken out from under her. For his part, Batman was as angry at himself as he was at the thieves. It was exactly what he had warned Batgirl against, distract and surprise, and he'd allowed himself to be distracted and surprised. As they leaped over the alleyway, their targets briefly ducked behind a shot on the rooftop, when they emerged, both were holding identical bags. They fled in opposite directions. "Plan B?" she asked.

"You get the kid," he growled and took off after Catwoman. After a long chase across Gotham's rooftops, she stopped, set the bag down, and turned to face him. "That's going back to the museum," he graveled as he caught up with her.

"I didn't stop to talk about the sculpture, Batman." She placed her hands on her hips, the whip dangling to the ground from one hand.

"I don't care _why_ you stopped, Catwoman," he said, teeth clenched.

"You used to."

"I did not. Whatever fantasy you've had about us, you can save it. You're both thieves, and I'm taking you down."

"Ah," she said softly, "I see." A smile spread across her face. She began to laugh. Batman risked a look behind him to determine that the kid wasn't coming up behind him and frowned. Her laughter only intensified. "This is about him, isn't it? You think...and you're jealous!" She enjoyed pushing his buttons, but this was too much. She hadn't even _pushed_ these, _Dick_ had.

He stood there for a moment, then growled and stalked around her, retrieving the bag. She didn't stop him, but when he started to walk away from her, the tough leather of her bullwhip coiled around his arms and chest.

"No," she said, "we're going to discuss this like rational adults."

"Like rational adults in costumes on the roof in the middle of the night, one of whom is tied up with a whip and holding a priceless work of art stolen by the other _rational adult_?"

"Exactly like that, and stop reaching for that batarang. Do you think I didn't know you'd be the one to follow me?"

A pause followed as he absorbed that. He dropped the bag and tapped the button on his wrist. "Batgirl, your target has the sculpture. Bring them both in."

She walked up behind him and said, "Ok, now that the ball's in the junior court," she grabbed his chin and turned his head to face her, "_Talk _to me!"

"I don't see that we have anything to talk about."

Catwoman pursed her lips, "You know, it's almost endearing in a sweet and stupid sort of way, but you haven't earned the right to be jealous when it comes to me."

"Your vanity is clouding your judgement. Whatever it is you think we have, this isn't about it."

She smiled. That was a double admission. First, that there was an issue here other than the stolen sculpture, and second, that there was an 'it' that this wasn't about. "Then what _is_ it about?"

He glared at her. "You taking a boy and turning him into a criminal."

She glared back. "He was right, you know. You _are_ a jackass."

He stared straight ahead, looking away from her, tightening the muscles in his chest and arms to try to loosen the coils of leather that pinned his arms.

She wanted to yell at him. _'He was a criminal when I found him! Instead of stealing cash from poor folks in dark alleys, he steals from people who have every cent insured, and no one gets hurt. I've done more for that boy than anyone since his parents, _including_ you, though you did try._' She flicked her wrist and the coils of the bullwhip fell away. She began to walk away from him, ignoring the black bag and the plaster replica contained inside.

His hand clamped down on her shoulder, and she spun around, razor-sharp claws slashing through the kevlar and leaving four red parallel lines on his chest. Her foot shot out, catching him in the stomach, and she fled. He considered pursuing, but instead took a moment to check the bag, confirming that it was in fact a fake. "Batgirl," he said into his cowl's comm, "what is your status?"

There was a long pause, after which the response came, You are not going to believe this...

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"You get the kid," Batman had growled, and she set off after him. She followed him from rooftop to rooftop. She didn't have his skill when it came to unassisted leaps over the alleys, but her grapnel had longer range than his whip, and she was able to keep pace. She heard in her cowl's earpiece, Batgirl, your target has the sculpture. Bring them both in.

At which point he had come to the roof of the Andersen Hotel, overlooking Robinson Park. Which was a problem for him, as the only other roof close enough to get to, even by whip, was the one she was jumping across from. "Here kitty kitty," she said, smirking as she approached him warily.

He tried to think of what Selina would do in this situation. _'Stretch,'_ he thought wryly, _'Show off for the Bat. I dunno if I can pull that off, but we'll find out.'_ Facing away from her, he said in a low voice, "Most cats don't come when called," bending over and setting the bag gently down on the rooftop. He used a tai chi motion to move smoothly into a defensive stance, clenching muscles in his arms and chest for effect, "But in your case, I might make an exception."

_'That is the best ass I've ever...WHAT ARE YOU DOING BABS?'_ she shouted in her mind. She was _not_ going to be taken in by that. Batman had referred to this as one of Catwoman's tricks, and suggested her pupil might try it on her. She forced a sneer, saying, "Not bad. I've seen better."

"Maybe you have," he said, lips curling in a Cheshire grin that spoke to his disbelief, "but you _did_ look."

Batgirl felt her cheeks growing hot. She reached inside her belt and threw a batarang at his head. He ducked and swung his arm forward, his whip coiling around her arm. He tugged on the handle of the whip, reeling her in. She used the momentum to run her shoulder into him, and they went down in a tangle of arms and legs. "Isn't it fun when my mom and your dad go out at night?" he joked, (taking an elbow in the back of the head for his trouble).

"Next time," she said, trying to pin his arm behind his back, "try having fun without stealing."

"You're just the cutest public service announcement I've ever met," he said, slipping his arm from her grip and pushing her off of him, turning and pouncing, pinning her on her back beneath him. "Be honest," he said in a breathy rasp, "this is more fun than the club scene."

If she were going to be honest, she might answer that the flushing in her cheeks wasn't entirely from exertion. Instead, she tried frantically to throw him off of her. She couldn't, and he kept her hands away from her belt. He smiled and made a growling noise. Her right hand grabbed something heavy and loose, and she swung, slamming the bag into the side of his head. There was a crashing sound of something breaking.

"Dammit!" he shouted, half-rolling half-falling off of her, clutching one hand to the cut on his scalp. Standing up, he looked shocked at what she had just hit him with. "You couldn't just _punch_ me or something? Fucking hell..." he said, grabbing his whip and fleeing, heading back the way he'd came. Batgirl was too stunned to follow.

A priceless piece of world-famous art, and she'd just smashed it to bits by using it as a club. And, because things needed to be worse, she heard Batman's voice in her ear. Batgirl, what is your status?

_'Oh shit. What do I say?'_ She stalled for time by saying, "You are not going to believe this..." She heard a grunt and said, "He dropped it. The sculpture. Onto the ground."

There was a long pause, after which he said, Can you get to the bag from your current position?

"I should be able to," she said, _'it being all of three feet away,'_ she mentally added. "Why? You think it can be repaired?"

I think you should get to the bag and look inside.

She scowled and fired off her grapnel upwards, letting the line fly for a few seconds before hitting the 'retract' button, letting him hear the puff of the gas propellant and the reeling of the line. She looked inside.

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Selina arched an eyebrow as Dick arrived at the rooftop where they'd split up. It seemed like half his face was covered in blood, although she knew scalp wounds could look worse than they were. "You ok?"

"Only a flesh wound," he joked in a bad English accent, nodding. "I'm pretty sure she'll go on a second date."

She chuckled and nodded, "Batarang."

He laughed and shook his head, "No, with my own bag, actually."

Her eyes bulged in surprise, "She _broke_ it?"

He nodded, "Smashed it into a million pieces. Tried to do the same to my head. That's still in just the one or two," he said, chuckling. "Why? I didn't have the real one."

Selina sighed and shook her head sadly...

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"Ok," Batgirl said, "I've got it. It's in a million pieces alright."

Take one of the small pieces in your hand and crumple it.

Barbara frowned. This was getting strange. She grabbed one of the small pieces and squeezed. It took little force to crumple the broken shard into powder. "Ok, I've got a handful of white dust. You want to tell me what this is about?"

"The statue was white marble. Marble doesn't crumble like that."

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"I _know_ it wasn't the real one," Selina said as she lifted the bag from inside the shed where they'd stashed it. "but _she_ thought it was real. He's teaching her one hundred and thirty-seven was to incapacitated a man and how to fly across Gotham's rooftops, but he isn't teaching her things that _matter_, like appreciating great art."

"Yeah," Dick agreed as they took the pens, pads of paper and envelopes they'd left, scribbled short messages, placed them in the envelopes and jumped off the roof.

"She's cute, though," Selina said as they landed on the next roof.

"Oh yeah," he agreed. _'I need to see Barbara again,'_ he thought, asking, "Him?"

"Call it an acquired taste," she said, while thinking, _'I need to see Bruce again.' _"You bent over like I told you to."

"Yeah," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"To a point. I don't think she's got the stick lodged as firmly as he does."

"All the better for you to take it out..."

"Selina!" he said, blushing.

She laughed.

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They arrived to find two envelopes, one addressed to 'Jackass' and the other addressed to 'Jackass-in-training,' in different handwriting, both with a claw drawn in the upper left hand corners, "Do we really want to read these?" Barbara asked.

"Probably not," he answered, reaching for the one he imagined was his. He considered taking both of them and ripping them up, but he really did want to read his, and it would be hard to justify not letting her read hers if he did. He opened his and read:

_Batman,_

_This wasn't a 'theme' crime. At least not in the sense that a statue of Bast would be. He's my partner, not my lover. If you feel the slightest bit of relief at this, you might start thinking about an aspect of our relationship other than thief/crimefighter._

It was signed in a flowing hand, '_Catwoman._' He stared hard at the paper, then crumpled it in his hands. He glanced over at Batgirl, who had opened her envelope, revealing another envelope inside. He was about to reach over and crumple that up, when he saw what was written on it:

_If this is the Head Jackass opening his partner's mail, GIVE IT TO HER you pointed-eared hypocrite. (I know you read yours)_

He looked away, pretending he hadn't read that, and said, "I've got to get back to the cave," and fired his grapnel, not waiting for an answer. _'I need to get my mind off of her. Maybe another date with that woman from the museum. Assuming she didn't feel blown off.' _He tucked his legs and swung off of the rooftop.

Batgirl shook her head, thinking _'If he didn't want to know what it said, he shouldn't have read it.'_ She opened the second envelope and looked inside:

_Batgirl,_

_Had a great time rolling around on the rooftop with you. I don't know about you, but I thought our date was a SMASHING success, even if you did CUT it a bit short. No HARD feelings, though. Let's meet again sometime, if you don't get too far BEHIND in your work. You're a fun girl. Don't let him turn you into a smaller, prettier version of himself._

_Tiger (grrr!)_

Barbara shook her head at the missive. "I can't believe he wrote 'grrr'," she said to herself. _'I need to call Dick. Work off some of this...yeah.'_

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_All the points seem to be on the Cats' side of the board_

_but that is going to change when secrets are revealed_

_in Chapter 7_


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: When I sit down to write another chapter, I find that whenever I can write these attempts at comedy I'm referring to as disclaimers easily, I'll have an easy time writing the story. When I sit here staring at the screen with jokes from old Garfield strips and Jimi Hendrix lyrics running through my head, it's gonna be a toughie. No points for guessing which just happened as I wrote this. And despite all the skull-sweat, I still don't own any of these characters.

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**Partners**

Chapter 7

As far as the date went, Dick would have been just as happy if 'dinner and a movie' had meant 'pizza and a video', but the second date was a little early to start doing those non-date dates. When you added in the fact that the first date had centered around two brawls and a fairly lousy cup of coffee, it seemed incumbent upon Dick to actually make a night of it.

Dinner had been fine. He'd found an Italian bistro that had yet to be discovered by the teeming throngs of Gothamites that descended on every trendy eatery as soon as it was discovered. Good food, but eager enough for business that they didn't yet have a dress code, which suited Dick fine. It was the movie that would prove to be the real mistake. It seemed a simple enough choice, pick the romantic comedy. It didn't matter who was in it, what the reviews were, or what the 'plot' was. If you picked the romantic comedy, it wouldn't necessarily be the best two hours of your life, but the happy ending would leave her pleased and (so theory went) in a romantic mood.

All fine and good in theory, but in practice, he was reasonably certain that another ninety minutes of this crap was going to cause his head to explode. He munched morosely on a handful of popcorn, pondering 'accidentally' spilling the entire bag so he'd have an excuse to leave the theater, at least for a few minutes, when Barbara leaned over and whispered, "Can we get out of here? This movie is awful."

"Oh thank God!" Dick exclaimed, attracting several glares from the patrons seated around them. "Well she's right," he said as he stood up, "this _is_ awful." She laughed and gave him a shove towards the aisle. "You realize you've earned my eternal gratitude," he said as they walked out of the theater.

"Eternal, eh?" she asked, grinning. "I'm going to hold you to that promise." He leered comically in response, and she laughed again, "Dork." She tugged on the bill of his baseball cap, pulling it down over his eyes. "You know that thing makes you look like a teenager."

"I am a teenager, remember? For a few more months, at least." Forty, to be exact, but who was counting? Dick took the hat off, revealing the bandage on his head, and straightened his hair, tucking the cap into his jacket pocket.

"It makes you look like a _younger_ teenager." She glanced at the bandage and asked, "How'd you get that?"

"Fell," Dick replied, shrugging. "On some stairs. Needed a couple stitches." Barbara frowned. She wondered again just what 'odd jobs' Dick Grayson was doing.

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As far as their date went, Bruce would rather have gone somewhere more quiet, like that bistro Lucius had told him about, but of course he couldn't. It was one thing to allow himself to relax a bit around Selina, it was another thing entirely for the public's image of Bruce Wayne to be of anything other than that of a dimwitted rich playboy. No, if Bruce Wayne was going to appear in public with a stunning brunette on his arm, it was going to be at Les Jardin.

Les Jardin was perfect for his cover. Populated by a mixture of Gotham's richest and most famous, and the people who wrote about or took pictures of first category, there were endless opportunities to reinforce his image. Plus there was the fact that Les Jardin served only vegetarian French cuisine, so Bruce always took the opportunity to loudly order coq au vin, foie gras, or any number of dishes that they didn't serve. His favorite was steak frites. Nothing said 'boob' like going into a restaurant named 'The Garden' and ordering a steak.

Best of all, anyone who saw him that night would remember that order, (and of course the woman with him.) They would take no notice of him chatting quietly with her over the garlic-marinated stuffed portobello mushrooms, discussing the early show he'd taken her to. "I'm not saying it's not a good performance," she was saying, "I'm just saying that the acrobatics aren't up to the standards of the trapeze artists you find on your more well-known American circuses like Ringling or Haly's."

"It's not even comparable," Bruce said. "You're comparing Cirque du Soleil to a stunt act that takes place in a kid's show with lion tamers and clowns." He couldn't quite keep a hint of a Bat-scowl off of his lips. He wasn't fond of clowns. "It's like you're holding up a ballet to a professional wrestling match and complaining that in ballet they always land on their feet." Selina smiled at him, amused.

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Four hours later, she was decidedly less amused. Shocked would be a better word for it. After dinner, they'd gone back to the Manor. It was only after they'd made love that she had noticed the lines on his chest. Four fresh scars, parallel, and she was absolutely certain they hadn't been there the week before. She could barely keep her voice level as she asked, "Where'd those come from?"

Laughing, he replied, "The neighbor's cat jumped on me when I was lying by the pool. Pesky thing. Always getting where she shouldn't." He let his head sink into the pillow and closed his eyes. She stared, wondering if he was mocking her. His eyes were closed, and he looked to be moving towards sleep. She lay there, stock-still, waiting until his breathing slowed. She crept quietly out of bed, showered, dressed and fled the room. She nearly jumped as she found the butler waiting outside the room. "Pennyworth!" she said, trying to control her breathing. _'Get a _hold_ of yourself, woman!'_ Someone sneaking up on her in Batman's house...Batman's _butler_ sneaking up on her in Batman's house, that was too much.

"Miss Kyle," he said, "I apologize for disturbing you."

"You didn't..." she began to protest before shaking his head. "No apologies necessary, Pennyworth. If you would call me a cab?"

"Is everything alright Miss Kyle?"

"Perfectly alright," she lied, "I have some business in the morning and need to be off." _'And if you object in the slightest, Bat-butler, I'm busting out of here any way I can.'_

"Certainly. Would you like some coffee or tea while you wait? It can take a while for a taxi to arrive."

"I imagine there aren't many in this neighborhood at this time of night," Selina said, forcing a light tone and a smile, "I'll be fine in the foyer, thank you."

"I will return shortly," he announced, heading into one of the nearby unused bedrooms that had a phone. After calling the taxi, he stepped back out into the corridor, noticing that Bruce had pulled on a bathrobe and was making his way towards the den. "Miss Kyle may return to offer farewell," he pointed out.

"Tell her I sleepwalk," Bruce said tersely.

Alfred's disapproval was pointed, "I shall be certain to tell her just that, Master Bruce."

His shortness with Alfred aside, he did remain in the cave, out of costume, until Selina's cab had departed, just in case she did attempted to see him again. She didn't, which, oddly enough, irritated him. He had measured his breathing to appear asleep in order to encourage her to do the same. Instead, she had crept out of bed and slipped out on _him._ For some reason he couldn't fathom, this bothered him.

He pored through police reports, news stories, anything else the computer's search protocols had flagged for his attention. He checked the list of at-large criminals, any JLA communiques, and then decided he could get a patrol in. He had the computer dial his partner's phone.

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"This is...not a good time," Barbara said in response to the terse command that had been graveled into her ear.

I don't believe I asked if it was a good time.

She glared at the phone in her hand. "I don't believe you asked, period. It remains, in fact, not a good time."

There was a pause on the other end. You're at the cave first thing tomorrow night.

"Fine," she agreed, flipping the phone closed and resisting the urge to hurl it at the wall. She let her eyes close when she felt his lips on the back of her neck. "You can keep doing that," she said, "til...y'know, morning? Not necessarily _this_ morning, mind you."

Dick laughed, the slight movement of his lips tickling her cheek. "Whatever you say my red-haired wonder. That was work?" he asked. I wouldn't think the library would be open this late."

"It's not. That was...something else," she answered.

"Oh good. I had this mental image of the Batman showing up, returning his copy of 'How to Win Friends and Influence People' and rummaging through the records, looking for people who are overdue." Barbara burst out laughing. In retrospect, she probably should have pretended not to get the joke, but it was such a perfect mental image of Bruce that she didn't have a choice.

As her laughter subsided, they heard a sound "from outside his bedroom. "Selina must be home," Dick said, adding by way of explanation, "My roommate." Suddenly a loud crash could be heard from the kitchen. Dick and Barbara glanced at each other. "I'd better take a look," he said, and got out of bed. She took a moment to enjoy the view as he bent over, retrieving his bathrobe from the heap on the floor it had been discarded in.

An icy shock passed through her as she connected two images in her mind. Him, bending over in front of her at this moment, and him doing the same thing the night before on a rooftop. The skintight leather he'd worn left little to the imagination, and she had a very good memory. Every unanswered question she'd had about Dick fell into place. The way he handled himself in a fight, his 'odd jobs', and the money he seemed to have. Even the cut on his head. _She_ had given that to him.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh at the absurdity and cry at the indignity. Batman would probably want her to call him, but she wasn't quite willing to do so, not without more evidence. _'What would I say, anyway?' Hey Batman, I think this guy I'm seeing is Tiger because they have the same ass?'_ No, gather more evidence.

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Dick walked into the kitchen and found Selina, sitting on one of the chairs that surrounded the table. Well, the one chair, at any rate. The other had been smashed into kindling. The scratches on the surface of one section of the countertop bore witness to where the smashing had been done. She was staring blankly at the wall, saying nothing.

"Selina? Are you okay?" he asked, putting one hand lightly on her shoulder. When he touched her, her hand shot out towards his chest, fingers curled as if to claw him. Dick jumped back, bringing his hands up for defense, banging his heel on one of the cabinets. "Dammit, Selina!"

"I'm sorry!" she said suddenly, seeming surprised to see him. "Are you..." she began to ask.

"I'm fine," Dick said, ignoring the throbbing in his foot. There was going to be a bruise there, tomorrow, but Dick was a good deal more worried about Selina. He'd never seen her shaken like this. "What happened?"

"It's Bruce. He's-" her voice cut off at a sound from the hallway. Her head whipped around and she jumped out of the chair, landing in a defensive posture.

"Barbara's here," Dick said, trying to interpose himself between Selina and the door. Whatever had happened with Wayne, she was clearly on edge, and the last thing he wanted was for a (he hesitated to even think the word) catfight to break out.

Selina's eyes narrowed. The noise brought her attention away from Bruce...from Batman. She found her control returning, but she did not relax her posture. "Then why," she hissed quietly, "did that sound come from my bedroom?"

Dick blinked in surprise, then frowned, heading into the hallway, Selina right behind him. He flicked on the light switch and they found Barbara, fully dressed, sprawled on the floor, her upper body lying across the threshold of Selina's bedroom door, her leg sin the hallway. Somewhat groggily, she rolled over onto her back and pointed at them, "Cat..." she muttered. Dick and Selina glanced at each other.

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When Dick walked out of his bedroom, Barbara dressed quickly. A quick look around the room revealed nothing. She wasn't exactly sure what she expected to find. His costume? The Rodin in his sock drawer? Whatever she was looking for, she didn't find it. If she was right about Dick, this Selina might well be Catwoman, so Barbara headed into the hallway.

She crept into the corridor, the dim lighting coming from the single lamp in the kitchen. She wouldn't have minded the nightvision lenses Batman had installed in her cowl right about now. As she approached the other bedroom, her foot bumped something soft. There was a loud yowling sound, followed by a flurry of movement, and she felt herself falling off-balance.

She tried to bring her other foot forward to catch her weight when her forehead impacted with the heavy wooden door. When she tried to catch her self, the unlocked door flew open, removing all support she had, and she fell to the floor in an undignified heap. She lay there dazed for a moment, then blinked as the light was turned on. She rolled onto her back, grabbled hold of the door frame and pulled herself to a sitting position.

With Dick was lithe black-haired woman in a red evening dress. Barbara found herself pointing and saying, "Cat..." before she got a hold of herself. Dick and Selina (who Barbara felt sure was Catwoman, despite even less evidence than she had on Dick) glanced at each other, and she let her arm drop a little, pointing at the furry black lump glaring at her from the other end of the hall. "Was looking for the bathroom," she explained. "Tripped over the cat."

Dick offered her a hand up, which she accepted, and said, "Selina, this is Barbara."

Barbara stood, red-faced. _'Think positively,'_ she thought, _'they can't possibly connect you with Batgirl, now.'_ "Pleased to meet you," she greeted in a light tone, "Dick's said...well not all that much about you, really.

Equally lightly, Selina replied, "There's not much to say, really. Dick, when you've got a minute, I need to talk with you about the rent. Nothing urgent." He nodded and she walked past both of them into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Dick frowned. _'Selina could buy the building and not make a dent in her finances. It must have been something she didn't want to talk about in front of Barbara.'_ He glanced at Barbara, fully-dressed, and sighed. "You have to go?" he asked.

Barbara seized upon the opening, nodding and saying, "Yeah. I stayed a bit longer than I'd planned." Dick grinned, and despite herself she laughed. As he leaned forward to kiss her, she hesitated for a moment before letting him

She felt a momentary pang of guilt. She _liked_ him, and what she'd seen in the restaurant and the alley suggested he was a good person at heart, but he was a criminal, was likely to end up in prison, and the way things looked now, it was probably going to be her and Batman who put him there. Bad enough all of that, but kissing him while knowing this...that felt dishonest.

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Two hours later, she was no longer feeling guilty. Staring at the large screen inside the cave, showing articles surrounding the murder of John and Mary Grayson, Dick's parents. It might have been easier if it had all been a lie, if his story was nothing more than a ploy for sympathy. She'd have been angry, but she could have made a clean break as Barbara, and he would have been Batgirl's job from then.

But no, the jerk had been telling the truth. There was the proof in black and white. The newspapers hadn't published his picture, of course. They couldn't, him being a minor, but all the articles had mentioned the twelve year-old son of the murdered acrobats. All the articles. The Gazette's, the Times', even the blurb in the Daily Planet. Newspapers frequently copied from each other, to the point that it wasn't even considered theft, but the better papers always verified their facts independently. And all the newspaper articles, from four years, two months and twelve days ago, mentioned John and Mary Grayson's twelve year-old son.

He _had_ told her the truth, except in one detail. And because of that detail, now _she_ was a criminal. A fine point, perhaps. Certainly all of Batgirl's activities were against the law, a fact her father had mulled over more than once in her hearing when it came to the issue of the Batman, but that was different. She might work outside the law, but she was working on its behalf. This was a law she had broken. Unknowingly, but ignorance was no excuse.

What this meant is that it was important to keep Barbara away from whatever was going to happen. _'So no going over there and beating the hell out of him,'_ she thought bitterly. At least not as Barbara. The next time Batgirl got a hold of him, it'd be a different story. In the meantime, all this bordered on speculation. She _knew_, but she needed proof. Typing away, Barbara dug into the backgrounds of Richard Grayson and Selina Kyle.

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Selina sat in silence on her bed, propped up against the wooden headboard. She'd changed into a pair of silk pajamas. After Barbara's departure, Dick had knocked on her door, but she'd begged off, saying it'd wait until the morning, and to get some sleep. She doubted she'd get any on her own. Her brain was racing. Images of Batman's face, of Bruce's. Four lines across his chest. She imagined those same lines slashing across that yellow symbol.

Her ears burned at his response to the question she'd asked. Four lines, that far apart, and he blamed the neighbors' cat. Unless the neighbors were keeping a panther, there was no way in hell that had come from any four-legged cat. _'Pesky thing. Always getting where she shouldn't. Arrogant, condescending son of a bitch...'_ She found herself glaring. She should tell Dick and be done with it. That's what partners did, right? Told each other these sorts of things when it mattered? And it mattered, alright.

Dick might not have had her long history with Batman, but he had his own issues with the Dark Knight, stemming from before she'd ever met him in that alley. And for all she knew, Bruce might _know_ what he was doing, dating her. Know who they were. Dick had to be told...but she didn't want to. What if Dick were angry enough at him to spread his secret around? To Penguin, Riddler, _Joker_ even. Ok, he was a billionaire, and he was _Batman. _He could take care of himself. But still, she didn't want that...

What did she want?

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_Barbara knows, but she needs proof_

_Selina knows, but she needs answers_

_in Chapter 8_


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I had a fiendish master plan that would have given me ownership of all of these characters, but Phase 7 involved a hunting trip with Dick Cheney, and I chickened out. I'm a bleeder.

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**Partners**

Chapter 8

Barbara's exhaustive search into their backgrounds revealed little. Following his parents' murder, Richard Grayson had become a ward of the state, and had been bounced between numerous foster homes. School records suggested a bright but unmotivated student with an indifferent attitude towards discipline and a marked lack of respect for authority. Attendance became sparse once he'd entered high school. About a year and a half ago, he'd disappeared from his foster home. No criminal record, though his name was mentioned on a list of suspected gang members. The gang in question had disbanded over a year ago, and she found no further mention of him.

She found a notation regarding the murder of his parents in Batman's casefiles. It appeared that he had apprehended the man responsible for the Graysons' deaths, a Gotham mafioso 'Boss' Tony Zucco, but the DA had decided he didn't have enough evidence to pursue a murder charge. Batman's notation "Get Dent on this," indicated a belief that the case was winnable, but not long after he'd written that, Harvey Dent was no longer an ally. Zucco pled guilty to racketeering and served six months of a two-year sentence in Blackgate before being paroled. Zucco had left Gotham, current whereabouts unknown.

Selina Kyle's past was practically a cipher. A birth certificate, names of parents (both deceased), driver's license, passport. Her employer of record was a 'business' that appeared to be nothing more than a PO Box in the Cayman Islands. Her job title was "outside consultant" for which she received a handsome salary, income taxes scrupulously paid. The owner of her apartment, a woman in her seventies, lived on the property and apparently kept no records on computer.

Everything fit, but none of it was positive evidence. She was going to have to get closer.

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"You're _sure?_" Dick asked. Again.

Selina glared at him. She could accept a certain amount of incredulity from her younger partner, but this was the third time he'd said that. She'd agonized over whether or not to tell him all day, putting him off with lame excuses he didn't buy. Finally, he'd said, "Look, partner, whatever's bothering you, you don't have to tell me if you want to. It's not like you owe me anything." It was that one word that made up her mind for her. She was still new to this whole 'partner' thing, but keeping your partner in the know seemed like square one of a partnership, right up there with watching each other's backs. So she'd told him.

She was beginning to regret it. Her patience, not at its zenith to begin with, was wearing extremely thin. "If you like, I can claw the exact same marks into your chest and you can try to find a cat in Bristol that can match them?"

"Uh...you know what? I think I'm going to take your word for it," he said, letting his body tilt bend out of his handstand until his feet touched the floor.

"Do that," she said, still glaring at him as she leaned forward, stretching out the muscles of her lower back.

He sighed and sat down on the practice mat, leaning his back against the wall. "So what do we do?"

Finishing up her stretch routine, she said, "We find out what they know. We'll attract their attention and split them up. If it's business as usual, than they know as much as they usually do."

He stood, grinning, "Nothing?"

"Right," She stood as well, slipping into a defensive stance. "If they know more, we figure out how much of a problem it is. You've got your backup hideout, ID, and so on in order?"

"Yep," Dick said as he slipped into a similar posture.

"You want to tell me what they are?"

"Nope," he said, grinning.

"Good boy," she said, grinning back.

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Batgirl had found a rooftop across the street from their apartment, one that provided her enough concealment to observe them. For an hour, they'd mostly been in the bedroom the two had converted to a training room. Stretches, what looked to be tai chi and some light sparring made her hopes rise. It seemed more like a warm-up than a workout. She took the minicamera out of her belt and show a few pictures of them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Batman growled from behind her, making her jump in surprise.

"I-" she began, but he cut her off.

"We do not bring our personal business into our work."

"It's not just personal, it's-"

"I can respect your diligence," he continued, his growl dropping in tone and rising in menace, "but I do not need you looking into my private life. Do you understand?"

"Wait," Barbara blinked in surprise, "_Your_ private life?"

Batman's glare only deepened, "Don't play dumb. Your searches into her background were logged. I don't know how you learned I was seeing Selina Kyle but that is _none of your business!_"

He was seeing _her_? This was going to get complicated. "I didn't know you were seeing her."

There was a silent pause as Batman assimilated this. "What?"

Finally given a chance to explain, she said, "Him. Her roommate, Grayson. I know him. I think he's Tiger."

"Explain," he graveled.

Deciding the real explanation was best left unsaid, she answered, 'He had a bandage on his head, the same place where I hit Tiger with the fake statue. It made me suspicious.

Batman pondered that for a moment. "You hit him with the statue."

_'Oh hell,'_ she thought, _'he would jump right to the one thing I didn't want him to.'_ "The fake statue."

"Which you didn't know was a fake at the time." The glare was back.

_'Ok, need a distraction.'_ "So you said you're seeing Selina Kyle?" she asked.

Her plan worked, as he recalled the marks Catwoman had left on his chest, the ones Selina had commented on...just before she abruptly left the Manor. _'Oh hell...'_ he thought.

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Selina's plan had been simple enough. Of course, being Dick, he had his own twist in mind, and this time it was one he wasn't going to tell her. They went through their usual pre-prowl warm-up and made their way up to the rooftop. They brought out their whips and coiled them around the neighboring building's flagpole. They were about to jump when suddenly both lines went slack.

Both bullwhips had been sliced neatly, thinner haves dangling from the flagpole, the other halves in their hands. They both turned around, knowing what they'd see. Batman and Batgirl, on the roof of their apartment building. "Catwoman," Batman growled, staring at her.

She stared back. Deciding it was best that he knew they were on an even footing, she answered, "Bruce." Batgirl seemed surprised by this, looking away from Tiger.

"C'mon," Tiger said to Batgirl, grinning at her, "Let's leave these two alone."

Her jaw dropped at his...invitation. "You think I'm going anywhere with you?"

Tiger sighed and said, "Fine, how about I pretend to run and you pretend to chase me?" And he proceeded to hop off the roof, a metal clatter indicating he had landed on a fire escape.

"Go after him," Batman ordered, eliciting a scowl from Barbara. She walked to the edge of the roof, glanced downward for a moment, and then hopped off. After a few moments, of silence, Batman said, "We need to talk."

She crossed her arms and fixed him with a glare, "I'm glad you finally realize it." He glared back. For a long time, they simply stood there, staring. Finally, she broke the silence, "You know, if we're going to talk, actually saying something would be a good start."

"So say something."

"You're giving me Abbott and Costello?" Catwoman scowled, "You're still a jackass."

"You're wrong." There was something odd about his voice. It seemed...lighter.

"No, you really are a jackass."

"Not about that." There it was again. Just a touch less gravel when he spoke. "Saying something. It wasn't a good start."

Selina blinked. _'That...that was a joke?'_ The corner of one side of his lips curled upward. She stared, wide-eyed. He stared silently back. "I don't think saying nothing is working any better," she noted.

He gave a grunt of assent, but still managed not to say anything. The silence drew out, becoming uncomfortable. The silence was broken by the sound of a sharp impact. Batman and Catwoman's heads both whirled to face the same direction, the alley their partners had gone into.

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When she made her way to the edge of the rooftop, she glanced downward and frowned. Tiger was crouched on the top landing of the fire escape, his index finger held to his lips. She hopped down onto the landing next to him, quickly ducking out of sight. Two earpieces were connected by a thin plastic cable to what Batgirl recognized as a small microphone. She whispered, "What are you doing?"

He used a tiny piece of putty to set the microphone on the edge of the roof, pointing the unidirectional pickup towards the two still on the roof. He whispered in response, "Listening in. This is gonna be good." She glared at him, and he said, "Look, if you want to try to bring me in, you're welcome to, but not until I hear how this turns out."

"It's _private_," she said in an angry hiss.

"Uh-huh. Did he read the letter I left you?"

"..."

"..."

"Give me one." Tiger grinned and handed her one of the earpieces, which she tucked into the side of her cowl. "Why do you even have a sound-amplifier anyway?" she doubted he collected a lot of evidence or listened in to any mob meetings or the like.

"Safecracking," he replied. She glared at him, and he grinned in response.

It was Selina's voice they heard first. You know, if we're going to talk, actually saying something would be a good start.

So say something. Tiger's blue eyes rolled dramatically. Batgirl frowned.

You're giving me Abbott and Costello? You're still a jackass. Tiger grinned triumphantly at her, as if his side had scored a point.

You're wrong.

No, you really are a jackass.

Not about that. Saying something. It wasn't a good start. Batgirl stifled laughter at that, while Tiger smiled ironically.

The two said nothing for the longest time, prompting Tiger to comment, "They really suck at this, don't they?"

"Would we do any better?" she asked softly.

"I'm not sure how we could do worse."

In their earpieces, they heard Selina say, I don't think saying nothing is working any better.

"Why can't they just be honest with each other?" Tiger said.

Batgirl said heatedly, "Like you were honest with me?"

He frowned. "When was I not honest with you?"

She saw red. Her fist swung out and slammed into the side of his face, sending him sprawling onto the metal landing. "When you told me you were _nineteen,_ you son of a bitch!"

He looked up to see her standing over him, fists clenched. Catching a glimpse of Batgirl's red hair, he blinked in surprise. "Barbara?"

"This is getting positively Shakespearean," Catwoman mused, arms crossed as she glanced down from where she stood on the edge of the rooftop above them. Standing next to her, Batman grunted in assent. "You realize they were spying on us."

Batman glared at them, then glared at Catwoman, "Bad enough you've corrupted the boy, but kindly tell _your_ partner to stop corrupting _my _partner."

Selina chuckled, "You're Mr. Invasion of Privacy in this town, Stud. Obviously she gets it from you."

Batman lifted the microphone off of the roof and said, "This is not _our_ equipment." He crushed the microphone between his thumb and index fingers, the feedback causing both Dick and Barbara to wince in pain and pull the earpieces out. Selina glared at Dick.

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_The masks are off. What will they do now?_

_in Chapter 9_


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: mrf. Nnnngh. Don't own characters. Grey Goose Vodka, however, owns me. Auuugh. Stop the hurting?

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**Partners**

Chapter 9

Batman was glaring at the two of them. Catwoman's lips were pursed, but her expression was more considering. She glanced at Batgirl, who was blushing furiously, the lower half of her reddening cheeks visible below the cowl. In a dangerous tone of voice, Catwoman said, "You two..." making a subtle gesture with her claws.

_'Ok, blushing Batgirl has got to be the cutest...'_ Dick was thinking when he recognized Selina sending him the signal for 'run away'. Selina wanted both of them somewhere else, and given that Batman looked seconds away from going nuclear, that seemed a good idea to Dick. "...have somewhere else to be," he said, finishing her sentence and grabbing Batgirl around the waist, leaping and pulling both of them off of the fire escape.

As he'd known (hoped?) she would, she grabbed the grapnel from her belt and fired. The titanium prongs bit into a nearby rooftop, and as they feel, the decel line tightened, turning their momentum from freefall into an arc that began to curve upwards, allowing them to land on the roof of a three story building. She pressed the button to release the prongs and retract the grapple line, taking a deep breath.

It was then that she noticed that he hadn't let go of her waist. She drove her fist into his midsection, eliciting a pained grunt, and pushed him away. "What the hell was that for?" she said, glaring. "You could have killed us." He started to flash that grin of his, but she cut him off before he could respond, "No. Uh-uh. You're not charming your way out of this, Dick. Answer. The question."

He frowned and said, "I don't know what _your_ partner was planning, but mine had that 'I'm seeing two large piles of ground chuck' look in her eyes. She was just deciding which of us to claw to ribbons first."

Barbara glared at him. She'd been watching both Batman and Catwoman when he'd grabbed her. Batman had been surprised by the maneuver, and was already reaching for his grapnel. Catwoman hadn't. She'd actually given a slight nod. She supposed she could respect his loyalty, but that didn't let him off the hook. She held up two fingers on her right hand. "Two times, Dick. Two times you've lied to me. Three, if you count 'odd jobs', but since I wasn't going to tell you about Batgirl, I'll give you a pass on that. You don't get a third. Why?"

Dick smiled thinly. "It's a more complicated question than you think it is. Simplest answer is that she told me to. Was that really the 'why' you wanted to know?"

She chuckled softly, "No, but it's the only one I felt I had a right to ask."

His head tilted slightly. "Well it's probably the only one you had the right to expect an answer to, but go ahead and ask the other."

"Why do you steal?"

"For money." She glared at him. "What?" Dick asked, "It's the truth!"

"I've gone over the jobs you two have pulled," she said. "Based on Batman's records, and on his estimates for what you could get from a fence, if you're splitting the take, you've made a little over two million. Less if you're getting a smaller share. And I'm not counting the Rodin in that."

He smiled sardonically. "Batman's estimates are off by about a third," he said dryly. "I'm not telling you in which direction."

"Fine," she replied, scowling, "so at the _minimum_, you're a teenage millionaire. I've seen your apartment. You don't exactly live extravagantly. Do you even have a car?"

He snorted. "I used to. Have you ever tried parking in this city?"

"So what's the point of it all, then? You have some number you're going to hit and then quit, assuming we don't get you first? Is it just a game, and the dollar amount is how you keep score? What's the plan, Tiger?"

He pursed his lips. "Ignoring all jokes about cats and curiosity, do you subject the Joker or Two-Face to this?"

"Joker and Two-Face are psychopaths. You're not. You're a kid that had some bad breaks."

Dick scowled, especially at the 'kid' comment. "You know, I think I'd rather go back to that crimefighter/thief dynamic we had going. Can we go back to you trying to arrest me?"

"Stop ducking the fucking question Dick!" she snapped, "_She_ gets off on stealing, that's obvious. I don't think you do. I think you steal because that's what _she_ expects of you."

His face paled, and he was silent for several moments. When he finally answered, his voice was barely above a whisper, "Not only are you way the hell off-base, you've gone pretty far into the realm of none of your goddamned business."

"Maybe so," she said, reaching out to put one hand on his shoulder, "but who else do you have to talk to about it?"

He turned away from her, head hanging forward.

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When Tiger pulled Batgirl off the fire escape, Batman had his grapnel out and was preparing to jump. Thankfully the girl had the situation in hand, because with only the height of a third story building to work with, Batman wouldn't have had time to catch either of them. Noting their trajectory, he was preparing to go after them, when a set of claws lightly pressed against the bat insignia on his chest.

"Let them go," Catwoman said, "they have some things to talk about." He glared at her, and she glared back, "I said _talk_. I don't think they're planning to elope."

Batman grunted, staring across the rooftops before putting the grapnel back on his belt. "This was easier before they got involved."

Selina's eyebrows rose. "No one said you had to get a sidekick just because I did."

Batman actually laughed. Not exactly a full-on belly laugh, but his rumbling chuckle was unusual enough. "Not them. Bruce and Selina."

"Do I look like Harvey Dent to you? Catwoman and Selina Kyle aren't two different people."

"If you looked like Harvey Dent to me, we wouldn't have this problem.

Selina pursed her lips, "Ok, Funny-Bat is creeping me the hell out. Stop that."

Batman actually smiled. "Bruce Wayne joked with you. Are you saying you don't react to him the same way you do to Batman?" She crossed her arms, frowning. He took that as a yes, and asked, "Why did you steal that statue?"

"I thought I'd put it on the end table in the living room. It'll make quite a conversation piece." That was the end of Batman's smile. "To _sell_ it, jackass. Why do you think?"

"Because you met Bruce Wayne by it?"

"You think..." Selina's eyes bulged in surprise, "You think that had something to do with _you_? Of all the egotistical...it wasn't even my idea! I was doing to steal the opal."

"It was _his_ idea. And you went along with it."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You know how much it's worth?"

"Why did you agree to steal that statue you met me by?"

Selina had long thought herself immune to the Bat-glare, but this wasn't that. Not exactly. It looked just like it, but it wasn't Batman's voice that was asking her. And the Rodin sculpture in the museum wasn't where she met _Batman_, it was where she met Bruce. "It was..."

He interrupted, "It was Bruce Wayne's money that brought that sculpture to the museum, and you met Bruce Wayne next to it. It was the closest you could get to stealing from Bruce Wayne without actually doing so."

It was kind of disturbing how he referred to _Bruce Wayne_ as if he were another person entirely. "That's not-"

"Picture when he cooked up the scheme. You and the kid are in your Cat-lair preparing-"

"Cat-lair? We were sitting at the kitchen table."

"Fine. You're sitting at the kitchen table. Did he _know_ we'd talked about the sculpture?" Selina blinked. "He knew," Batman continued, "one of you mentioned the name 'Bruce' and/or 'Wayne' exactly how many seconds before you decided to steal it?"

"You know, I used to think this pomposity was just an intimidation technique."

"I didn't hear a denial there."

"I don't hear denials when I say you're a jackass."

"Catwoman stole the statue. And you say Selina Kyle and Catwoman are the same person. Selina Kyle stole that statue from Bruce Wayne. I'd like it back."

"Go to hell."

"Listen. To. Me." he said softly. "This isn't Batman telling you to put the jewels back. Selina..."

The Bat telling her to put the jewels back had never proven all that effective. Selina was finding the Man harder to refuse.

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"I have nightmares," was what he said, eyes focused on a patch of rooftop, mind focused on nothing physical. She didn't speak, waiting silently for him to continue. "I relive their deaths. Every last detail. Every time it happens...I'm twelve again. Weak. Powerless. Hopeless." He shivered, wrapping both arms around his midsection. She placed one gloved hand on his back, rubbing gently.

If he even noticed the gesture, he didn't react. Instead he continued, "I wake up screaming. It's happened ever since they were killed." He chuckled humorlessly, "Made me the most popular kid in Juvie." Dick turned his head and glanced back at her. "That's where wards of the state are housed before they can be placed in a foster home. Can you imagine putting refugees from a war or a natural disaster in Blackgate? But that's what we do to orphans. To kids."

"What about your foster par-"

"_Don't!_" Dick said angrily, interrupting as he turned to face her. Her hand fell away, "Don't call those people '_parents,_' foster or otherwise. I _had_ parents. I know what parents were. My parents loved me. They didn't keep me around because the state _paid_ them to. The _best_ home I was stuck in wanted to medicate me into contentment, but the state health plan wouldn't pay for it, so they gave me back. The next place, he'd pound on the walls and yell at me to shut up. If that didn't work, he'd come pound on me."

Barbara moved forward to take his hand, but he pulled back. "Don't," he said, "I don't need to be pitied. I stopped wanting sympathy years ago. Whatever you think you're trying to save me from, _she_ saved me before you put on a costume. I'm telling you this to make it clear that yes, I owe her more than I could ever repay." He chuckled softly as he added, "I could steal the whole south island and it wouldn't make up for what she helped me get back."

"But that's what I owe. What she expects?" He snorted and said, "You really don't know her, do you? Don't underestimate the 'cat' side of the Catwoman equation. If I announced tomorrow morning that I was setting out on my own, she'd wish me luck, ask me to keep in touch, maybe give me a hug, and warn me that if I try to go after something she's stealing, she'll shred me. And then she'll move on with her life."

"So yes. There's a plan. There's a goal. There's a point at which I plan to stop stealing. In the meantime," he lifted one hand and counted on his fingers, "jewelry boutiques, museums, galleries, and the homes of extremely wealthy people. Every single one of them one hundred percent insured. I steal something, the previous owner gets paid a sum of money, that sum is paid in bits and bytes by all the customers of the insurance company."

He laughed, "To them, I'm not a thief. I'm a _risk factor_. An economic consideration on an actuarial table. I don't claim to be Robin Hood, but I'm not hurting people either."

"You really believe that?" she asked.

"It's not a belief. It's a statement of fact."

"It's a self-justifying rationalization of you refusing to see past your own ends and avoiding the responsibility of your actions." He glared at her, but she pressed on. "Being robbed _hurts, _Dick. That the owner of a home you burglarize can easily absorb the financial loss, or has insured himself against it, doesn't change the fear you inflict upon that person. Their home isn't safe, anymore. Maybe the person picks up and leaves town."

"The jewelry store may be insured, but all of a sudden its premiums go up. Maybe it can absorb that, maybe it can't. Maybe it has to lay off a salesman or a clerk. Maybe the company that owns it decides that Gotham's just not safe, and the store closes. Same goes for galleries. Museums get most of their money from charitable donations. Bruce Wayne is the reason the GMA even _had_ the Rodin to display."

He began to grin and she glared, "It's not _funny_, Dick! Bruce may have written the check to bring the Eternal Idol to the museum, but the museum was counting on the revenue from people paying their fees to see the sculpture. People leave town. Stores leave town. Jobs are lost. Taxes are lost. The city is poorer, because of you! Your stealing huts people. You've just gotten away from them before you have to see it."

"And what would you suggest?" he asked. "Get a cape and cowl? Call myself Batboy? You think what you do makes any difference?" A scowl crossed his face, "I assume that in your checking up on me, the name Tony Zucco appeared?" She frowned, then offered a nod in confirmation. He continued, "You're not the only one who can do some digging. And Bruce Wayne is a lot easier to look up than I am. His parents..."

Dick angrily choked off a sob. Mentally chastising himself for this, he failed to notice that Barbara had looked to the side. "I thought I disliked him before. Bad enough when he was just an arrogant vigilante jackass who couldn't nail Zucco for more than six months. But you know what the difference between him and me was? He had _money_. His family's _servants_ were they to keep an eye on him while his father's _employees_ managed his billions of dollars. You think he would have grown up to be Batman if he'd had to do it in a foster home?"

"But after all that, what is he? I don't know what he had to put himself through to go from a rich kid to Batman, but I bet it was a hell of a lot. All to, and stop me if I'm wrong her, all to keep what happened to him from happening to anyone else. Do I have that part right?" After a moment, Barbara nodded slowly. "Newsflash. It happened to me. Exact. Same. Fucking. Thing." Dick shook his head, "He gets Zucco, turns him over to the cops, and six months later, that's it. Why?"

"Because the DA was on the take," a gravelly voice said from behind him. Dick jumped a foot in the air and he reached for the whip he was no longer carrying. Batman didn't move an inch. "He was on Franco Bertinelli's payroll, and Zucco worked for Bertinelli."

Dick was glaring at Batman with an intensity that rivaled his best Bat-glare. "Where can I find him? The DA."

"In Blackgate."

"Your work?"

Batman nodded, "Gotham PD turned over evidence of his corruption to the Department of Justice."

"Does it make it go away? Doing what you do?"

"No." Dick hadn't specified what 'it' was, but Batman..._Bruce_...Bruce knew.

"Then...why?"

After a pause, Bruce answered, "It's not about making it go away. Nothing will ever do that. Nothing ever could, and if it did, I don't think I'd want that. It's about taking it, using that pain, and channeling it into something that honors their memory." He spoke in a voice free of Bat-gravel. Bruce's voice. "I can say I'm sorry that I didn't get Zucco. I _am_, but-"

"-But it doesn't help," Dick said. "Not even a little."

Bruce nodded. "It never did."

Barbara spoke up, saying, "Maybe it didn't, but that doesn't mean you have to shut out the people who say it." Both men glanced at her.

Dick frowned and said, "I thought your father..."

"Not exactly. It's kind of a long story."

Dick glanced around. "Where's Catwoman."

"Getting the statue," Bruce answered. Dick blinked in surprise. "She's bringing it here. Either that or she's running, and heading for her Miami fence." He watched Dick's reaction carefully.

Dick's expression smoothed to bland neutrality. "I'm not confirming or denying your suspicions."

Batman grunted. "She'll bring it."

"Not quite, handsome," she said, climbing up onto the roof. "I'm willing, but it's only half mine to give." She tucked the whip she'd retrieved from their apartment against her waist.

"It's _none_ of yours to give," Barbara said. Bruce shook his head at her in a gesture of negation.

"Our outlooks differ," Selina said dismissively. She explained, "I've had it placed somewhere you can find it, but as we stole it together, we're going to relinquish it together or not at all. If he says no, you two can do what you want, although I'll note you don't have any proof." Smiling, she added, "And it goes without saying that we won't be coming quietly."

Dick chuckled. Barbara glared. Batman was already focused on Dick. He said, "I don't know what sort of belief you have in an afterlife, if any. I don't know if you believe your parents are watching you or not. But ask yourself, if they were, what would they see? What are _you_ doing to honor their memory, Dick?"

Glaring hotly, Dick seethed. "Real nice, _Bruce._ Zero to ruthless manipulation in two-point-four seconds."

"Perhaps. Am I wrong?"

Dick stared at the rooftop. A tear dribbled out of the eyehole of his mask, but he refused to look away. If Selina's guess had even been close, this would have put him over. This would have been the big score that would have allowed him to try to put his life back together. He stared at their faces. Bruce's was expressionless. Not for the first time, Dick wondered what Selina saw there.

Barbara's was almost pleading. Her words about the people he hurt echoed through his mind. He wondered if this was some sort of redemption thing for her. Ten criminals shown to the path of righteousness and you get a free ice cream bar at the JLA cafeteria? Was she just doing her heroic duty, or was she hoping for her own sake as much as his.

Selina's was...a smile. Not a mocking smile, and not that teasing grin she gave Batman. It was a smile he'd seen when after thirty minutes of combing and tests of four different products he'd bought at the drug store, he'd asked her how his hair looked. He'd seen it when he'd agonized over the costume, unable to decide between the domino mask and the cowl with cat-ears. It was the faintly amused smile that said, _'I can't believe you're putting this much effort into a decision this unimportant.'_

"Tell them," he said. And she did.

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_Has Dick given up a life of crime?_

_And for that matter, has Selina?_

_If not, where does that leave the four of them_

_in Chapter 10_


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but the more I write them, the more I wish I did.

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**Partners**

Chapter 10

"Tell him," Dick said.

And she did. When she did, Dick was speechless. Barbara was smiling at him. Even _Batman_ smiled. At least Dick thought that brief upward curl of his lips was a smile. Whatever it was, Dick found it rather disturbing.

"Let's go," Batman graveled, and he and Batgirl fired their lines, securing them and leaping off the roof.

Dick turned to Selina, trying to get the words out through his surprise. "You...you _fenced_ it?"

And _there_ was the teasing grin from her. "It was a rather rushed negotiation. I insisted Oswald pay me that minute. He couldn't have done it if he hadn't had some bearer's bonds stashed in case he needed to make a quick getaway. He always did believe in being prepared." She reached into her pouch and pulled out a sheaf of papers, dividing the stack into two with a claw and handing one half to Dick.

She was always rather indifferent about money, once it was theirs, but to Dick's eye it looked a lot like the stack that she handed him was larger than the one she kept. He'd take that up later, instead saying, "So the Bats are going to bust Penguin with the statue?"

She nodded. "That's why it's a bit less than my guess. Besides the time constraints, it wouldn't feel _right_ to charge Ozzy full price for something he wasn't going to keep." There was the grin again. "I think I'm going to have to go back to David for future jobs," she said, referring to the Miami-based fence she'd used before Penguin.

"Nix that," he said, "Batman knows about him."

She gave Dick a frankly appraising look. "I'm gonna miss you, kid."

"Why, where are you going?" he answered flippantly, grinning.

Selina smirked. "Ok, that part I won't miss so much, smartass. I think we can agree I've been pretty good when it comes to your privacy, but when you leave calculations and the number four million circled with the word 'target' written in large capital letters on a piece of paper you leave on the kitchen table, I'm going to get the idea." Dick chuckled and offered a sheepish shrug, "What does four million buy you, anyway?" she asked.

"My life back," he answered. "As much of it as can be bought, anyway."

Selina's head titled, green eyes staring at him with undisguised curiosity.

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_Two months later..._

Franco Bertinelli wasn't normally given to the sort of entertainments preferred by the teeming masses, but he had to admit it had been quite a show. Even he'd found himself grinning, and the kids had been absolutely mesmerized throughout the performance. Of course the 'kids' were twenty-one and sixteen respectively.

It was Helena's seventeenth birthday tomorrow, and while she'd have a more typical teenage party with her friends tomorrow, for tonight, he insisted they have time together as a family. "Just because you're getting older," he had said, "doesn't mean it isn't good to be a kid sometimes."

"Are you talking about us or yourself, Pops?" Joey had cracked back. Wise-ass kid.

At the moment, Joey and Helena were having a vigorous argument over which part of the act was the best. Joey liked the animal act, with the elephants and the lion-tamer, while Helena favored the trapeze artists. "You were paying more attention to how that one guy looked in those red and green tights than any quadruple somersault."

Helena's face colored. She looked to be a moment away from unleashing one of her trademark torrents of mixed English and Italian invective on her brother when Franco intervened, "You can resume this in a moment, Helena. Joey and I need to see Mr. Haly before we head home. Wait in the car with Bobby." Franco nodded to Bobby, his family's personal bodyguard, and he and Joey made their way through the throngs to Garrison "Pop" Haly's trailer.

When he arrived, Franco noticed an immediate difference in Haly. In the years since one of his young associates had gotten somewhat..._aggressive_...in his business pursuits, Bertinelli's appearance always brought an anger, tightly controlled, but there, enough that Franco could see it just beneath the surface. The old ringmaster treated him with respect though, and that was enough. Better to be feared, as the saying went.

This time was different. Haly was calm, evincing little reaction to the arrival of Bertinelli and his son. Franco took a moment to mull this, then posited that the old man must have finally accepted the reality of the situation. "Good evening, Mr. Haly," Bertinelli said. Haly replied with an impassive silence. Bertinelli frowned, nonplussed, and continued. "Your new owners seem to have been quite serious when they consented to a silent partnership. The holding company is a dummy corporation with nothing but a Caribbean post office box. We were able to extract the fact that all mail is forward to a private box in a bank in Geneva-"

Haly interrupted, "But unlike the Cayman clerk, the Swiss wouldn't be bribed, and you're still in the dark."

This was definitely odd, but Bertinelli wasn't going to be put off by some two-bit carny in a silly costume. "I see you're keeping yourself well-informed. Our arrangement remains the same. Make whatever excuses you need, cook the books however you like, but the payments continue."

"Not happening," a voice graveled from behind the two of them. They whirled to see a muscular young man in a black costume and a mask. Joey reacted first, reaching inside his jacket. Before his son could draw the gun, the costumed man grabbed a bar on the low-hanging roof of the trailer and swung the soles of both of his boots into Joey's face. Joey hit the wall with a crack and slumped down to the floor, unconscious.

"You son of a bitch!" Franco shouted as he drew his own gun, but before he could bring it to bear, the man was on him. His arm was wrenched painfully behind his back, the gun thumping lightly against the trailer's carpeted floor. The costumed man pushed the back of his shin with one food, sending Franco Bertinelli to his knees, chest pressed against the top of Haly's small desk.

Haly observed this with an impassive expression. When he spoke, it was in a bland tone of voice, markedly in contrast with the usual flourish he gave his basso profundo voice, "As you can see, Mr. Bertinelli, circumstances have changed. This gentleman represents the new owners.

In a gravelly rasp, Dick said in Bertinelli's ear, "The new owners have decided your 'protection' is no longer required. We've put together a _presentation_ to explain to you that we intend to protect our investment. Give him the slide show, Haly." Haly opened his top drawer and removed a manila envelope. As he opened it, Dick said, "In researching our new acquisition, we've discovered that circus folk..._carnies_, if you prefer...tend to consider each other family. I'm sure that you appreciate family, Mr. Bertinelli."

Haly removed a series of pictures from the envelope. The first picture was of Helena, smiling. Franco knew the picture well. It was taken at her sixteenth birthday. He had one just like it in his wallet. "Your daughter is quite the beauty," in an unemotional rasp. Bertinelli's eyes widened. Haly moved through the pictures slowly, one at a time, while Dick narrated. "This is her in her bedroom, sleeping. This is her swimming in your pool. This is her at school. This is her and her best friend. Her in your car. This is the car your giving her tomorrow for her birthday. You know, ethnic pride is fine and all, but that's really too flashy a car to be giving to a seventeen year-old girl. You pay all those cops and judges to handle real problems, not to get your kid off from traffic tickets. A Jaguar would have been more tasteful _and _less of a hassle. Last picture please."

The very last picture appeared, it was of Helena standing in front of the front door of Franco's Mediterranean villa. An image of crosshairs was overlaid on her head. "This is the house in Sicily you hid her and her brothers in when you were having that _misunderstanding _with your now-late colleagues." Dick yanked Franco's hair back, forcing the horrified mobster to stare into the angry blue eyes that glared out of his mask. "If something happens to this circus and the people in it, you will be hurting our business interests. But to these people, you'll be hurting their family. Make no mistake, we _will_ hurt your business if that happens, but at my firm, we value family. As do you. Capisce?"

He was on the verge of tears, "Yes! Yes!" he shouted.

"Good," Dick rasped, "Now take your son and get out of here." Joey was stirring on the floor. Franco helped him to his feet, took one long look at Dick who stood there, fists clenched, glaring, and then stumbled out of the trailer into the darkened circus grounds. Dick took several deep breaths and then pulled off his mask, setting it on Haly's desk. He brushed the spirit gum off of his face as best as he could.

Haly, who hadn't moved throughout this entire exchange, was staring at Dick, his fingers steepled. "I'd said you'd changed, Dick, but..." Haly wondered how to ask this. He wondered if it was _safe_ to ask. "Would you really...?"

Dick shook his head. "I'd teach him the meaning of the phrase 'living hell'. I'd do everything to make him _wish_ he were dead, and if he put a gun to his own head, the only reason I'd think twice is if I wasn't sure if death would be the greater punishment. But I wouldn't touch her, Pop. I _couldn't_."

Pop Haly nodded at the fledgeling recently returned. _'Easier than thinking of him as my boss, I suppose.'_ "Glad you haven't changed _that_ much, boy." He smiled crookedly, "Welcome home."

Dick grinned. "Thanks Pop. I'm gonna go see a couple friends who saw the show. I'll be back in time for you to buy me a corn dog and a funnel cake before we close."

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Dick had his masked tucked in his pouch as he walked through the still-brightly-lit fairgrounds. It still struck him as odd not to have to _hide_ when in this costume. But who'd look twice at a man in a costume walking around a circus? Heck, by Haly's Big Top standards, the Tiger get-up was positively tame. He walked up to his trailer and went inside.

Given the circumstances of his departure, no one thought it too odd when Pop bought a trailer for Dick and said the young acrobat wouldn't have to share it. Not that Dick felt elevated above the rest of the family, but after having his own space for so long, it would have been a shock to give that up, and Dick wasn't sure he ever wanted to. At least not to whatever strongman, horse-handler or clown the luck of the draw would link him up with.

It was the only special treatment he'd asked Pop for, other than his promise not to tell anyone just who the circus' new owner was. "So," he said, his voice echoing from the speaker the radio receiver was hooked up to. He turned off the microphone pickup on his suit's collar and said, "What did you think of the show?"

Barbara grinned, "The big top or the after-dinner theater?" She stood up and stepped forward, hugging him. Between his age and the confusion created by their costumed identities, they'd decided it was best to slow down a bit. Let Dick and Barbara get to know each other a bit more. Well, _she'd_ decided, anyway. His decision was to be patient, and to go along with her decision until she felt more ready.

He hugged her back and said, "The circus." He blinked as he noticed that the other woman was glaring at him, arms crossed. Puzzled, he asked, "What's..." then stopped as the answer hit him. "Lion-tamer?"

"Yes. Dick. Lion-tamer." Selina glared. Releasing Dick, Barbara giggled, and Selina included her in the glare.

"You know," Barbara said, pure mischief in her eyes, "Bruce could probably learn a few of those techniques."

"If I _ever_," Selina declared, turning to make sure everyone in the trailer understood her, "see Batman with a whip and a chair, he'd better also have a rocket strapped to his back, because that's the only way he's getting out unshredded." That established, she said, "I've seen the trapeze act before, although not in those red and green tights. This from the kid who teased me about the purple leather?"

Barbara leaped to his defense, "I thought they looked good on him." Selina couldn't help smiling at the pair.

"You stole my voice," Bruce said, glowering at Dick.

"Arrest me," Dick taunted.

Both women attempted to hide laughter, not very well. "He stole my voice," Bruce repeated, voice oddly plaintive.

"Think of it as an homage." Selina suggested.

"Hey, I was taking it on faith that the voice even works," Dick noted. "I'd only seen you try it on me and Selina, before. It just annoyed me, and she thinks it's sexy."

"Of course it works..." Bruce trailed off and turned to look at Selina, "You do?" Everyone in the trailer noticed the gravel he'd put into that question.

Dick shook his head in disbelief. In an aside to Barbara, he stage-whispered, "Did he think it was the ears?"

"You mean it wasn't the ears for you?" She grinned at him.

"Hey, I met Barbara before I met Batgirl, remember?" Blue eyes stared into green.

As the silence drew out, Bruce and Selina glanced at each other. 'Should we go?' he mouthed silently to her.

Barbara gave him another quick hug and said, "C'mon Bruce, let's leave the Cats alone."

Dick nodded, saying, "We need to plan our next job," grinning at Bruce.

Bruce fixed him with a glare.

"All right boys, break it up," Selina said, shaking her head.

Barbara giggled, and she and Bruce filed out of the trailer. Dick asked, "You're sure one of them didn't bug the place?"

Selina chuckled, "I'm not, but there's not much for them to overhear if they did."

"You've really given it up?"

Selina tilted her head, "I wouldn't say that..."

"What would you say?"

"That Catwoman's on a well-earned vacation. When she gets back, we'll figure out what's next." Dick nodded and sat down in one of the two folding chairs. "So how is it," she asked, "everything you hoped for?"

Dick looked thoughtful, "I'm not sure what I'd hoped for."

Selina watched him for a moment, and suggested, "It is home. And it isn't."

After pondering that for a moment, he nodded in agreement. "I'm glad I came back. If for no other reason then to get that scum's hooks out of Pop's business. It's great being up on the traps, performing, but..." He stood, beginning to pace in the little space he had to do so. "Those red and green tights, that's what the family wore. Before. Now they don't fit."

"Barbara may have been looking more closely than I was, but I think if those tights didn't fit, we'd have noticed."

Dick grimaced, "You know what I mean. For years all I wanted was to put them on and be home again. Well, I did, and I am. Only I'm not." He slumped back into the chair, again, frustrated, "What is it with me? I want to be back in the circus, but it's not right. I want to be back in your apartment, you scouting out our next heist while I cook up another Bat-trap, but _that_ doesn't feel right either."

"You know, now that you mention it, maybe the tights were a size too small."

"Selina!"

"For Christ's sake, Dick, you're _seventeen_! Do you really expect to know what you want to do with your _entire_ life at age seventeen? Do you know _anybody_ that knew that?"

That brought a snort. "Bruce?" he suggested.

"You want Bruce's life?"

Dick let out a single bark of laughter at that. "Point taken."

She smiled softly at him, "The point, kiddo, is that you've got options. Explore 'em. Maybe you're just adjusting, and a year from now you'll still be swinging in the big top." Selina had her doubts about that, but it'd be better for Dick to find out on his own if and when he had to go, "If not, leave. Steal. Don't steal. Hold down a job. Get an equivalency and bribe your way into a top university. Believe me, you can. Go work with Bruce and Barbara and take down the Bertinellis of the world. Nothing is permanent unless we choose to make it so. Don't be afraid if the goal you worked for years to achieve isn't as important as you thought it was. Pick a new one. Whatever you do, don't sit here moping about it. Have you ever seen a cat mope?"

"Yes."

Selina glared at him. "You have not."

"Sure I have. Saba, the lion here. Everytime her trainer takes a couple days vacation, she gets listless and mopey."

"You just save these little observations for when you know I don't have my claws on."

Dick grinned at her. "Thank you for coming. Even if you did have to bring Captain BroodyBat with you." Suddenly, Dick frowned. "You know what I just realized?" Selina's eyebrow arched. "He never asked."

"Never asked what?"

"If I had told anyone, or would tell anyone."

"This surprises you?"

"Well, yeah. It's a pretty big thing for him, don't you think?"

"It's a huge thing for him. He makes Bruce Wayne look like an idiot in public just to remove any possibility of a connection between them."

"Then why didn't he take steps?"

"Steps?"

"Threatening me, bribing me. He didn't even _ask_!"

"Have you told anyone?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"No."

"That's why, then. Good luck, Dick," she said, standing, patting him fondly on the shoulder and then making her way out of his trailer, leaving a very puzzled Dick Grayson behind.

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_Dick's got some thinking to do_

_Bruce and Selina have only started_

_and is Barbara thinking of giving up her night job?_

_The Partners will return, but for now, this is_

**The End**


End file.
